BUDS    OF   SPRING. 


"  These  volumes  contain  what  he  has  left,  immature  buds,  and  blossoms 
shaken  from  the  tree,  and  green  fruit ;  yet  will  they  evince  what  the 
harvest  would  have  been." 

SOUTHEY'S  LIFE  OF  H.  K.  WHITE. 


BUDS  OF  SPRING. 


POETICAL  REMAINS 


OF 


AUGUSTUS    FOSTER    LYDE 


WITH 


ADDENDA. 


•  Vos  autera  Lortor,  ut  ita  virtutem  locetis,  sine  qua  amicitia  esse  non  potest, 
ut,  ea  excepta,  nihil  amicitia  praestabilius  putetis." 

Cicero,  De  Amicitia. 


BOSTON: 

PERKINS    AND    MARVIN. 

NEW  YORK:    WILEY  AND  PUTNAM. 

PHILADELPHIA :    HENRY  PERKINS. 

1838. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1838,  by 

THOMAS  H.  VAIL, 
in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


FOLSOM,    WELLS,   AND    THURSTON. 

PRINTERS    TO    THE    UNIVERSITY. 


PREFACE. 


FOR  a  succinct  notice  of  the  life  and  character, 
and  of  the  Poetical  Remains  of  Lyde,  the  reader  is 
referred  to  the  Introduction.  But  it  is  proper  to 
say  a  few  words  upon  the  appearance  of  this  little 
volume  of  poems.  The  title  seemed  proper  to  it, 
inasmuch  as  the  pieces  are  the  production  of  a 
mind  which  had  not  expanded  into  its  maturity,  and 
proper  also  to  the  season  in  which  the  volume  has 
been  introduced  to  the  public.  Like  the  buds  of 
spring,  the  thoughts  of  our  departed  friend  were 
just  opening  in  their  fresh  and  irregular  beauty,  and 
were  beginning  to  shed  around  their  pure  and  sweet 
and  welcome  fragrance.  Lyde  is  known  to  all  the 
members  of  the  Episcopalian  community,  and  to 
many  in  other  denominations,  as  having  been  a 
young  man  of  great  promise.  And  it  has  been 
thought,  that  a  memorial  of  him,  like  this  now  pre 
sented,  would  be  acceptable  to  a  large  circle  of 


vi  PREFACE. 

friends  who  knew  and  admired  him,  and  to  others 
who  would  regret  that  his  name  should  be  for 
gotten. 

If  this  little  volume  should  be  dedicated  to  those 
who  always  manifested  a  most  lively  interest  in  the 
welfare  of  our  friend,  and  exerted  themselves  most 
liberally  to  develope  his  talents  and  usefulness,  the 
names  of  the  Rt.  Rev.  Thomas  C.  Brownell,  and 
of  the  Rev.  Francis  L.  Hawks,  and  of  the  Rev. 
Horatio  N.  Potter,  and  of  John  Pintard,  Esq., 
would  be  adopted  among  the  first.  But  the  in 
scription  selected  appeared  the  most  suitable  ;  and 
the  profits  from  this  edition,  if  any  be  realized,  will 
be  devoted  to  the  support  of  the  Christian  Mission 
to  China,  through  the  Foreign  Committee  of  the 
Board  of  Missions  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal 
Church  in  the  United  States. 

The  design  of  the  Addenda  is  explained  in  the 
Note  preliminary  to  them.  If  these  Remains  shall  find 
favor  sufficient  to  make  another  edition  expedient,  it 
may  be  well  to  substitute,  instead  of  the  Addenda, 
(unless  a  memoir  of  Lyde  shall  be  prepared  in  an 
other  quarter,  as  was  at  one  time  contemplated,) 
extracts  from  his  correspondence  and  prose  writ- 


PREFACE.  vii 

ings  ;  so  that  the  book  may  serve  the  purpose  of  a 
memoir  of  our  friend,  in  an  order  somewhat  similar 
to  that  in  which  the  Literary  Remains  of  Henry 
Kirke  White  have  been  arranged  by  his  biographer. 
The  Editor  of  this  volume  hopes  that  the  im 
perfections  of  his  work  may  be  overlooked  in  the 
satisfaction  derived  from  a  perusal  of  its  contents. 
The  volume  has  been  prepared  without  a  reference 
to  the  captious,  for  it  is  a  sad  duty  to  transcribe 
the  Remains  of  a  friend  whom  one  has  loved. 
These  will,  we  believe,  be  read,  as  they  have  been 
prepared  for  the  press,  with  a  softened  heart. 

"Mollissima  corda 

Humane  generi  dare  se  natura  fatetur; 
Quse  lachrymas  dedit." 

Juv.  Sat.  xv.  131  -  133. 

Cambridge,  Massachusetts; 
April,  1838. 


"  WE  bless  thy  holy  name,  Oh  LORD,  for  all  thy  servants  departed 
this  life  in  thy  faith  and  fear;  beseeching  Thee  to  give  us  grace  so  to  fol 
low  their  good  examples,  that  with  them  we  may  be  partakers  of  thy  heav 
enly  kingdom :  grant  this,  Oh  FATHER,  for  JESUS  CHRIST'S  sake,  our 
only  Mediator  and  Advocate." 


CONTENTS. 


INTRODUCTION xi 

POETICAL  REMAINS. 

STANZA            .........  5 

HOME  OF  MY  CHILDHOOD 6 

YOUTHFUL  ATTACHMENTS       ......  8 

A  PARAPHRASE 13 

MAN  WAS  NOT  MADE  TO  MOURN  .        .         .        .14 

THOUGHTS  BY  THE  HUDSON       .....  16 

PRAYERS  OF  THE  GOOD 19 

THE  ORPHAN 20 

A  FRAGMENT           ........  23 

THE  HIGHLAND  FIGHT 25 

A  MOTHER'S  LOVE 28 

ORIGIN  OF  THE  NIGHT-BLOOMING  CEREUS        .        .  29 

A  FRAGMENT            ........  30 

SWITZERLAND     ........  31 

To  J.  G 37 

BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST 38 

SKETCHES  OF  Music 47 

To  A  FRIEND 53 

To  THE  SAME 54 

HUMILITY 55 

A  VISION 66 

LlNES  WRITTEN  ON  THE  HOUSATONIC        ...  68 

THE  DEATH  OF  MOSES 69 


CONTENTS. 

"REMEMBER  ME" 74 

REMEMBER  THEE  .......  75 

EPITAPH  ON  LYDE    ....  76 


ADDENDA. 

PRELIMINARY  NOTE 79 

OUR  LIFE §3 

THE  FAREWELL  OF  REPENTANCE         ....  84 

THE  WIDOW 90 

SONNET.    "  Night's  stillness  hangs  around  "  91 

THE  UNIVERSAL  SYMPATHY 92 

APOSTROPHE  TO  Music 102 

Music 103 

A  SENTIMENTAL  SONNET 104 

THE  CHRISTIAN  PILGRIM'S  PASS-WORD          .        .  105 

SONNET.     "My  weary  spirit,"         .  114 

THE  WIDOW'S  SON 115 

THE  MANIAC  MAID 117 

DIES  IRM ng 

THE  DAY  OF  WRATH 119 

THE  DEPARTED 12g 

THE  LAMB  AND  THE  CROSS         ....  128 

SONNET.     "  There  is  a  mourner,"      ....  135 

CHRISTIAN  RESIGNATION       ....  135 

THE  UNKNOWN  SUFFERINGS  OF  CHRIST          .         .  138 

A  PRAYER  TO  CHRIST 142 

SONNET.     "  LORD  !  Thou  art  GOD,"           .        .         .  143 

THE  WORSHIP  OF  HEAVEN           .         .         .  144 

SONNET.     "  Welcome,  Buds  of  Spring "            .        .  150 


INTRODUCTION. 


THERE  is,  to  the  mind  of  the  Editor,  a  striking 
analogy  between  the  lamented  Author  of  these  Re 
mains,  and  the  interesting  subject  of  Mr.  Southey's 
care,  referred  to  in  the  Preface.  Lyde,  as  respects 
the  promise  of  his  brief  but  bright  career,  and  the 
hopes  of  his  future  usefulness  and  eminence  so  san- 
guinely  entertained  by  those  who  knew  him,  as  re 
spects,  too,  the  incidents  of  his  personal  history, 
and  the  peculiar  traits  of  his  intellect,  and  many 
points  in  his  moral  character,  is  before  the  mind  of 
the  Editor,  as,  in  a  remarkable  analogy,  the  Henry 
Kirke  White  of  America,  and  the  contemplation  of 
him  is  a  sad  pleasure.  So  gifted  with  intellectual 
capacity,  so  refined  in  taste,  so  delicate  in  moral 
apprehensions,  that  few  were  able  to  understand  his 
excellence,  and  withal  so  reserved  in  confidential 
intercourse,  that  few  might  really  know  him,  he  has 
glided  silently  away  from  us.  And  we  feel  as  one 
who  has  tost  listlessly  into  the  sea  some  fair  pebble 
picked  up  on  the  beach,  and  perceives  too  late,  as 
it  passes  from  his  hand,  the  clear  and  white  rays 


xii  INTRODUCTION. 

of  the  diamond  :  or  we  feel  as  one  who  has  been 
roused  from  a  long  trance,  just  when  the  glowing 
sun  of  a  cloudless  summer  day  has  settled  under  the 
verge  of  the  horizon,  and  fancies,  in  his  first  sur 
prise,  that  he  sees  the  herald  light  of  the  morning ; 
but  the  glorious  hues  fade  sorrowfully,  and  the  gold 
en  light  becomes  pale,  and  presently  the  soft  stars 
tell  him  he  has  lost  the  day.  Thus  we  feel  deso 
late.  But  our  brother  is  in  heaven,  and  his  light 
is  on  another  sphere,  and  we  may  not  mourn  for 
him. 

This  Introduction  will  be  devoted  to  a  brief  sketch 
of  the  life  and  character  of  Lyde,  and  a  brief  no 
tice  of  his  literary  remains.  We  remember,  that  it 
was  proposed  some  three  or  four  years  since  by  a 
gentleman  well  qualified  for  the  duty,  then  a  student 
in  the  General  Protestant  Episcopal  Theological  Sem 
inary  in  New  York,  to  prepare  a  volume,  which 
should  include  memoirs  of  three,  who  had  deceased 
from  the  class  which  graduated  in  1834  from  that 
institution,  —  Lloyd  Saxbury  Waddell,*  George  F. 
Cook,|  and  the  Author  of  these  Remains.  Such  a 
volume  would  be  acceptable  to  their  friends,  and 
would,  without  doubt,  be  highly  useful  in  our  Church. 
The  piety  and  Christian  character  of  many,  who, 
like  the  three  above  mentioned,  have  died  in  their 

*  A  native  of  the  city  of  New  York,  who  died  in  the  same  city, 
November  17th,  1832,  aged  twenty-one  years. 

t  A  native  of  Cornish,  N.  H.,  born  September  18th,  1808,  who  died 
in  the  city  of  New  York,  March  29th,  1834,  and  was  buried  on  the 
Easter  Sunday  following. 


INTRODUCTION.  Xlll 

morning  service  at  the  altar  of  Christ  in  our  Church,* 
have  been  suffered  to  pass  away  from  the  public 
remembrance,  when  they  should  have  been  recorded, 
for  an  example  to  their  successors.  Whether  the 
design  referred  to  has  been  prosecuted,  or  aban 
doned  on  account  of  the  claims  of  other  duties,  the 
Editor  has  not  been  informed.  It  is  hoped  the  de 
sign  is  prosecuted.  The  present  volume  will  be  no 
interference  with  the  plan  ;  and  the  materials  for 
this  Introduction  are  purposely  selected  from  pieces 
already  in  print.  By  such  an  arrangement,  besides, 
near  friends  will  have,  what  is  always  especially 
desired  by  them  in  such  cases,  the  several  pieces 
which  appeared  at  the  time  of  our  brother's  de 
mise,  and  which  convey  most  concisely  and  exactly 
the  impression  produced  by  that  event. 

We  transcribe  now  an  obituary  notice  of  the 
deceased,  which  appeared  in  "  The  Churchman " 
(published  in  the  city  of  New  York)  of  December 
6th,  1834,  and  simultaneously  in  "  The  Episcopal 
Recorder  "  (published  at  Philadelphia),  and  which 
was  prepared  by  a  friend,  who  had  long  known  him 
intimately,  and  was  best  fitted  to  draw  up  such  a 
memorial,  the  Rev.  Samuel  Starr  (as  it  is  understood), 
then  Rector  of  the  Church  at  Camden,  New  Jersey. 

"  The  Rev.  Augustus  Foster  Lyde  was  born  in  Wilming 
ton,  North  Carolina,  February  4th,  1813,  where  in  early  life  he 

*  To  the  list  we  add  the  name  of  Henry  H.  Cook,  a  native  of  Clare- 
mont,  N.  H.,  and  a  member  of  the  Middle  Class  in  the  General  Semi 
nary,  who  died;  in  the  city  of  New  York,  on  the  28th  of  January  in  the 
current  year. 

b 


XIV  INTRODUCTION. 

was   piously    educated,   under  the  pastoral  and  academical 
charge  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Empie. 

"  From  very  infancy  he  manifested  a  strong  and  abiding 
sense  of  religious  obligation,  and  was  peculiarly  fond  of  his 
Bible.  As  illustrative  of  this,  when  at  the  age  of  six  years  he 
was  learning  the  beginning  of  the  fifth  chapter  of  St.  Mat 
thew's  Gospel,  which  had  been  assigned  him  as  a  Sunday 
School  lesson,  he  declared  that  the  chapter  Avas  too  good 
to  be  broken,  and  would  not  leave  it  till  the  whole  was  com 
mitted  to  memory. 

"  At  the  early  age  of  fourteen  he  was  admitted  a  mem 
ber  of  the  Sophomore  class  in  Washington  College,  Con 
necticut,  where  he  was  remarked  alike  by  officers  and 
students  to  be  an  uncommonly  interesting  and  promising 
boy.  He  applied  himself  devotedly  to  every  collegiate  duty, 
and  that,  as  was  apparent  to  all,  from  principle,  from  love 
of  study,  and  from  a  desire  of  improvement,  rather  than  from 
any  gratification  of  a  selfish  ambition.  He  graduated  in 
1830,  when  but  seventeen  years  of  age,  at  the  head  of  his 
class,  and  without  any  competitor  for  its  highest  honors. 

"Though  his  mind  was  at  this  period  firmly  bent  upon 
the  Gospel  ministry,  he  was  advised,  on  account  of  his  youth, 
and  for  the  purpose  of  studying  Hebrew,  and  disciplining 
his  mind  by  an  extended  acquaintance  with  the  sciences,  to 
delay  for  a  year  the  commencement  of  his  theological  course. 
He  accordingly  entered  the  General  Seminary  in  1831,  and 
his  instructers  and  fellow-students  will  all  bear  testimony  to 
his  proficiency,  and  to  what  may  have  been  a  too  close 
devotion  to  his  studies. 

"  But,  though  assiduously  laboring  to  cultivate  his  mind,  and 
to  store  it  with  sound  learning,  he  was  most  devotedly  bent 
upon  the  more  important  discipline  of  his  heart.  He  was 
conscientiously  jealous  of  whatever  might  tend  to  bind  it  to 
earth.  He  felt  that  there  was  no  middle  ground  for  a  disci- 


INTRODUCTION.  XV 

pie  of  the  LORD  JESUS  to  stand  on ;  and  especially  did  he 
feel,  that  a  Christian  minister's  life  and  his  whole  strength 
should  be  unreservedly  sacrificed  on  the  altar  of  his  GOD. 
With  such  views  and  feelings,  he  was  naturally  led  to  in 
quire,  and  that  with  deep  reflection  and  fervent  prayer,  how 
the  cause  of  CHRIST  and  his  Church  could  be  most  effect 
ually  promoted.  The  inquiry  exercised  his  mind  most  deeply 
the  last  year  of  his  theological  course.*  'The  field,'  he 

*  As  it  may  be  interesting  to  know  the  agency,  which,  under  GOD, 
was  most  efficient  in  leading  our  brother's  mind  to  this  inquiry,  we 
insert  the  following  article,  which  appeared  in  "  The  Churchman  "  of 
the  last  of  May,  1835. 

"  ORIGIN    OF    THE    CHINA    MISSION. 

"  A  little  less  than  four  years  ago,  there  connected  himself  with 
our  General  Theological  Seminary,  one  who  was  then  as  much  dis 
tinguished  by  peculiar  traits  of  character,  as  he  afterwards  was  by  the 
manner  in  which  those  traits  were  hallowed  by  the  influence  of  divine 
grace.  Not  that  he  was  at  that  period  devoid  of  those  views  of  him 
self,  sin,  and  GOD,  which  are  essential  to  a  Christian  :  no  !  far  different 
was  the  fact.  He  knew  full  well  that  he  was  a  sinner,  that  he  could 
do  nothing  good  of  himself,  that  the  wrath  of  GOD  hangs  over  the 
children  of  disobedience,  and  that  for  him,  as  for  all  others,  there 
was  but  one  name  through  which  he  might  be  saved,  the  name  of 
CHRIST.  But  the  providence  of  GOD  rendered  these  views  clearer 
shortly  after  he  joined  the  band  of  aspirants  to  the  sacred  office.  One 
of  the  most  powerful  instruments  in  effecting  this  end  was  the  Mis 
sionary  Association  of  the  Institution,  to  which  it  was  his  privilege  to 
belong.  Did  time  permit,  it  would  be  a  pleasing  duty  to  stop  here  and 
show  how  the  cause  of  missions  and  personal  piety  necessarily  aid 
each  other ;  but  such  an  argument  would  carry  us  too  far  from  our 
present  object,  and  is,  besides,  in  a  great  measure  unnecessary,  since 
those  who  peruse  this  brief  sketch  will  very  generally  admit  the  truth 
of  the  position. 

"  The  young  man,  whose  story  we  are  relating,  was  not  long  in  per 
ceiving  how  much  he  was  indebted  to  the  humble  yet  effective  Mis 
sionary  Association  of  the  Seminary,  and  therefore  spared  no  exertions 
in  promoting  the  great  objects  which  it  has  in  view.  While  thus 


XVI  INTRODUCTION. 

argued,  'is  the  world.'  This  whole  field,  through  human 
instrumentality,  is  to  be  cultivated  for  the  final  harvest  of 
the  LORD.  The  blessed  time  of  the  glorious  in-gathering 

engaged,  he  became  deeply  impressed  with  the  wants  of  the  heathen 
in  foreign  lands.  Many  and  earnest  were  the  contests  in  his  bosom 
between  inclination  and  a  somewhat  obscure  sense  of  duty.  Each 
day  brought  to  him  new  struggles  and  increased  dependence  on  GOD  j 
for  he  knew  that  he  was  agitating  a  question  to  which  GOD  alone 
could  furnish  him  a  sufficient  answer.  He  prayed.  Yes,  even  when 
his  watchful  brethren  around  him  had  closed  their  eyes  in  sleep,  he 
sent  his  glowing  prayers  to  heaven  for  light.  Were  those  prayers 
answered  ?  Who  could  doubt,  that  supplications,  whose  every  word 
was  winged  with  earnestness,  and  whose  every  petition  was  interwoven 
with  faith,  were  heard  ?  Yes,  they  were  heard.  All  doubts  were  re 
moved.  Where  but  lately  he  saw  only  dark  clouds,  by  the  clear  lights 
of  reason  and  conscience  he  now  descried  the  index  of  duty :  it 
pointed  but  one  way  ;  into  that  way  he  prepared  to  enter.  He  pledged 
himself  to  convey  those  glad  tidings  to  China,  which  his  Saviour  brought 
to  earth,  and  thus,  without  intending  it,  connected  his  own  history 
with  that  of  the  noblest  undertaking  of  our  Church. 

"  His  example  had  its  appropriate  effect ;  for  when  was  there  such 
an  example  without  its  influence  ?  A  class-mate  stepped  forward  to 
aid  him  in  his  noble  work;  and  with  him  received  holy  orders,  only 
to  plant  the  standard  of  the  Cross  within  the  walls  of  civilized  yet 
heathen  China.  Would  that  it  were  consistent  with  our  purpose  to 
turn  aside,  and  describe  minutely  the  meeting,  at  which  these  brethren 
parted  with  the  Missionary  Association  from  which  they  received  their 
first  missionary  breath.  Then  might  we  tell  of  the  mixed  feelings 
with  which  the  future  ministers  of  our  Church  looked  and  listened  to 
the  two,  (Messrs.  Lyde  and  Lockwood),  who  were  soon  probably  to 
give  themselves  to  a  foreign  land.  Exultation  was  the  first  emotion 
experienced,  because  there  rose  full  in  view  the  good  which  was  to 
be  done,  by  their  zeal  and  devotion,  to  the  Seminary  in  which  they 
were  educated,  to  the  Church  of  CHRIST,  and,  though  last  not  least, 
to  the  perishing  souls  of  men.  But  how  changed  were  the  feelings 
when  he,  who  had  been  the  instrument  of  Providence  in  beginning  the 
enterprise,  rose  to  bid  his  brethren  adieu  !  To  some,  even  then,  the 
hand  of  death  seemed  laid  upon  his  pallid  cheek,  and  all  could  not 


INTRODUCTION.  XV11 

will  be  advanced  by  the  zeal,  or  retarded  by  the  sluggish 
inaction,  of  the  Church.  He  believed,  that  there  exist  in 
her  bosom  energies  that  have  never  yet  been  called  into 

but  feel  that  such  might  be  the  case,  who  saw  him  choking  with  emotion, 
and,  amid  a  flood  of  tears,  scarce  articulating,  '  Pray  for  me,  brethren ; 
pray  that  my  health  may  be  restored  5  GOD  is  my  witness,  I  ask  it  not  for 
myself,  —  I  ask  it  for  China.'  We  will  not  stop  to  describe  the  gush  of 
feeling  which  ensued.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  many  a  manly  countenance 
was  turned  away  to  hide  the  glistening  signs  of  sympathy  and  affection. 

"  A  few  short  months  ensued,  and  AUGUSTUS  FOSTER  LYDE  was 
numbered  among  the  dead.  Sorrow  for  our  loss  was  our  primary 
emotion ;  apprehension  for  our  missionary  cause,  the  result  of  our 
first  reflection.  Soon,  however,  we  recollected,  that  GOD  is  often  most 
kind  when  he  seems  most  to  frown.  We  therefore  took  fresh  courage 
and  patiently  awaited  the  day  when  the  affliction,  which  the  Church 
had  experienced  in  the  removal  of  our  brother,  would  bring  out 
others  to  imitate  his  example,  and  devote  their  lives  to  extend  the 
Gospel  to  360,000,000  of  immortal  souls.  The  time  has  come. 

"  Where  was  the  commencement  of  this  magnificent  and  now 
promising  undertaking  1  The  previous  detail  answers  the  question, 
—  in  the  Missionary  Association  of  the  General  Seminary  of  our 
Church  j  for  that  communicated  its  spirit  to  Lyde ;  he  solicited  the 
adoption  of  the  station  by  our  Domestic  and  Foreign  Missionary 
Society,  and  that  step,  with  his  own  example,  called  forth  all  who 
are  now  going  to  the  field. 

Let  a  word  of  admonition  be  received  by  those  who  are  now  students 
in  the  General  Seminary,  from  one  who  is  thankful  he  was  once  a 
member  of  their  Missionary  Society,  —  that  this  Association  be  sus 
tained  vigorously,  as  among  their  most  effective  means  of  grace,  and 
a  powerful  promoter  of  their  Missionary  spirit. 

For  the  information  of  persons  unacquainted  with  the  present  state 
of  the  American  Protestant  Episcopal  Mission  to  China,  it  is  proper 
to  state,  that  in  June,  1835,  the  Rev.  Henry  Lockwood,  a  graduate  from 
the  General  Seminary  in  the  city  of  New  York,  and  the  Rev.  F.  R. 
Hanson,  a  graduate  from  the  Episcopal  Seminary  in  Alexandria,  District 
of  Columbia,  sailed  from  the  port  of  New  York,  for  China ;  and  in  July, 
1837,  the  Rev.  W.  J.  Boone,  M.  D.,  and  his  lady,  sailed  from  Boston,  for 
the  same  station.  At  present  they  all  reside  in  Batavia.  —  EDITOR. 
b* 


XVlll  INTRODUCTION. 

vigorous  action,  and  that  the  most  effectual  mode  of  arousing 
them  is,  to  send  from  her  own  fold  the  heralds  of  salvation, 
not  only  for  the  purpose  of  immediately  illuminating  the  dark 
places  of  the  earth,  but  also  for  learning,  and  for  sending 
back  from  its  different  parts,  such  stories  of  the  spiritual 
darkness  and  death  in  which  it  is  shrouded,  as,  under  GOD, 
should  be  the  means  of  enlisting  Christian  sympathy,  and 
eliciting  Christian  effort  for  the  great  work  of  evangelizing 
the  world.  Such,  in  a  word,  was  his  decided  view  of  the 
value  of  foreign  missions  to  the  Church.  He  desired  their 
establishment  and  prosperity,  for  he  considered  them  as  im 
portant  to  the  perfection  of  the  grand  system  of  bringing  all 
people  and  nations  of  the  earth  into  one  fold  under  the  one 
Great  Shepherd.  Yet  he  never  set  up  his  own  opinion  as 
the  infallible  guide  of  others.  His  views  were  too  elevated, 
and  his  knowledge  of  human  character  too  true,  to  suppose, 
that  even  with  equally  intelligent  and  honest  minds  the 
same  premises  necessarily  result  in  the  same  conclusions  ; 
much  less  did  he  ever  claim,  that  the  possession  of  different 
sentiments  on  the  subject  of  missions  should  be  taken  on 
either  side  of  the  question  as  a  test  of  zeal  or  indifference 
for  the  cause  of  CHRIST. 

"Such  being  Mr.  Lyde's  settled  conviction  in  reference 
to  the  missionary  enterprise,  he  was  led  to  ask,  hoiv  the  work 
should  be  advanced.  The  result  was,  that,  when  the  Church 
from  the  authorized  source  should  send  forth  the  inquiry, 
'Whom  shall  we  send  ?'  his  voice  should  be  heard  in  the  re 
sponse,  '  Here  am  /;  send  me.1  He  accordingly  wrote,  last 
winter,  to  the  lamented  Dr.  Montgomery,  asking  whether 
there  was  any  probability  that  the  Executive  Committee  of 
the  Domestic  and  Foreign  Missionary  Society  would  recom 
mend  the  establishment  of  a  mission  in  Asia.  In  reference 
to  the  foreign  mission  previously  established  in  Africa,  he 
expressed  a  belief,  that  there  were  those  in  the  Church  who 
would  hazard  their  lives  in  the  burning  heat  of  the  African  soil, 


INTRODUCTION.  XIX 

if  it  were  demanded  by  the  cause  of  the  Redeemer ;  hut  that 
he  thought  the  objects  of  foreign  missions  could  be  better 
effected  at  present  upon  other  heathen  ground.  With  his 
characteristic  modesty  he  requested  that  his  own  name  should 
in  no  way  be  connected  with  the  inquiry.  It  is  believed  that 
the  letter  was  shown  but  once,  and  then  upon  a  known  inti 
macy  with  its  author.  Dr.  Montgomery,  as  may  be  supposed 
by  all  who  knew  him,  was  enthusiastic  in  his  encomiums  upon 
the  character  and  spirit  of  the  letter  ;  but  was  too  soon  after 
prostrated  upon  his  dying  bed,  ever  to  give  it  a  reply. 

"  In  the  spring,  Mr.  Lyde  was  afflicted  with  a  cold  and  a 
slight  bilious  attack,  which  to  an  extent  reduced  his  strength, 
and  seemed  to  render  it  necessary  for  him  to  suspend  his 
studies  for  a  while,  and  absent  himself  from  the  Seminary. 
On  his  way  to  Philadelphia  he  joined  the  company  of  a  cler 
gyman  and  a  layman,  with  whose  persons,  and  with  whose 
active  interest  and  efficiency  in  all  important  matters  of  the 
Church,  he  was  well  acquainted.  As  the  special  object  of 
their  visit  to  Philadelphia  was  to  attend  the  meeting  of  the 
Board  of  Directors  of  the  Domestic  and  Foreign  Missionary 
Society,  his  favorite  theme  was  presented  to  their  attention, 
and  his  own  views  and  feelings  most  fully  expressed. 
Through  their  instrumentality  in  bringing  forward  and  ad 
vocating  the  question,  the  Board  established  the  China  mis 
sion,  with  instructions  to  the  Executive  Committee  to  carry 
the  object  into  effect  so  soon  as  the  men  and  means  could 
be  provided.  Mr.  Lyde  afterward  remarked,  in  conversation 
on  the  subject,  that  it  had  required  a  great  sacrifice  of  nat 
ural  feeling  for  him  to  decide  upon  leaving  the  society  of 
friends  and  the  attractions  of  country  for  a  home  in  a  strange 
and  distant  land,  but  that  his  mind  was  decided  upon  the 
course,  and  that  it  would  require  another  great  sacrifice  of 
feeling,  should  he  be  disappointed  in  his  hopes. 

"But  his  hopes  have  been  disappointed,  though  in  a  man 
ner  which  he  then   but  little  anticipated.     Notwithstanding 


XX  INTRODUCTION. 


he  carefully  pursued  the  course  advised  by  his  physician  for 
the  restoration  of  his  health,  it  remained  to  all  appearance 
stationary  till  the  time  of  his  graduation,  the  last  week  in 
June.  He  graduated  with  his  class,  and  the  following  Sun 
day  was  ordained  by  Bishop  Brownell,  in  St.  Thomas's 
Church,  New  York,  in  company  with  several  of  his  class 
mates.  The  remainder  of  the  summer  was  spent  in  New 
England,  where  he  was  advised  to  make  a  voyage  to  the 
West  Indies,  encouraged  that  he  might  return  with  reno 
vated  strength  in  the  spring.  On  reaching  New  York,  the 
last  of  September,  his  case  was  more  closely  examined:  and, 
at  his  request  to  be  honestly  dealt  with,  his  physician  gave 
his  opinion  that  his  lungs  were  diseased  beyond  hope  of  re 
covery  ;  and  that,  for  the  sake  of  a  more  congenial  climate, 
he  had  better  leave  for  Philadelphia,  than  put  himself  en 
tirely  beyond  the  reach  of  his  friends.  He  sustained  the 
stroke  like  a  Christian  philosopher,*  repeated  the  opinion 
that  had  been  given  of  his  condition,  on  arriving  at  Phila 
delphia,  without  the  least  apparent  emotion,  and  expressed 


*  Lest  this  expression  should  be  misunderstood  by  any,  it  is  proper 
to  state,  that,  at  the  time  when  a  consultation  of  physicians  was  held 
upon  his  case,  Lycle  was  expecting  their  decision  in  another  room. 
The  physician,  who  regularly  attended  him,  and  to  whom  he  was 
much  attached,  was  appointed  to  communicate  with  him.  As  he  en 
tered  the  room,  and  for  a  moment  was  silent,  Lyde  said  to  him,  with 
great  decision,  "  Doctor,  tell  me  plainly  the  exact  truth  j  I  am  pre 
pared  for  any  result."  So  soon  as  his  physician  had  informed  him  of 
the  result  of  the  consultation,  Lyde  burst  into  tears,  and  for  a  few 
minutes  paced  the  room  in  strong  emotion,  and  then  exclaimed, 
"  Can  it  be  so  ?  Shall  I  never  be  allowed  to  preach  the  Gospel  in 
China  ?  Yet  I  am  not  worthy  of  such  a  service  !  But  I  will  labor 
for  her  sake  while  I  live."  The  scene  was  most  affecting  and  sol 
emnizing.  And  he  did  labor  for  China  after  this  j  and  his  influence 
upon  his  brethren  in  the  Seminary  was  not  without  effect,  as  one  of 
the  Missionaries  now  in  China  will  testify.  —  EDITOR. 


INTRODUCTION.  XXI 

his  happiness  that  he  had  been  apprized  of  the  prospect 
before  him,  that  he  might  be  led  the  more  earnestly  to  seek 
the  grace  necessary  for  his  departure.  He  however  asked 
further  medical  advice ;  and,  as,  at  his  request,  the  worst  was 
told  him,  he  remained  unmoved  as  before.  Leaving  his 
physician,  he  began  to  devise  such  arrangements  as  were 
necessary  to  enable  him  to  spend  as  comfortably  as  possible 
the  remnant  of  his  days,  and  to  die.  His  disease  remained 
nearly  stationary  for  four  or  five  weeks,  which  induced  the 
belief  of  his  friends,  that  he  might  survive  the  winter.  But 
nine  days  before  his  death  he  attended  church,  and  was  on 
horseback  the  following  Tuesday.  He  began  to  fail  more 
rapidly  after  this,  and  left  his  room  for  the  last  time  on  Sun 
day.  He  was  confined  to  his  bed  but  one  day,  and  expired 
at  nine  o'clock  on  Wednesday  morning,  the  ]9th  instant. 

« Owing  to  a  natural  reservedness  in  the  expression  of 
his  feelings,  and  to  a  settled  aversion  to  every  thing  like 
noisy  cant  in  matters  of  religion,  Mr.  Lyde  said  little,  quite 
too  little,  to  his  visiting  friends,  about  dying,  and  about  his 
prospects  for  eternity.  Occasionally,  however,  he  spoke  of 
both,  to  the  near  friends  that  were  with  him,  with  calmness, 
and  indeed  with  delight.  He  said,  that  it  seemed  for  him 
far  better  to  die  this  winter  than  to  live  longer;  that,  if  he 
entered  upon  his  professional  duties,  an  awful  responsibility 
would  attend  him  through  life  ;  that  souls  might  be  lost 
through  his  lack  of  faithfulness ;  that,  if  his  Heavenly  Father 
willed,  he  should  be  resigned  to  stay  on  earth,  but  that  he 
preferred  going  to  do  his  Master's  work  in  another  and  a 
better  world.  The  day  before  his  death  he  said,  that,  in  the 
early  part  of  his  sickness,  his  views  had  not  been  so  clear, 
nor  his  peace  so  perfect,  as  he  desired ;  '  but,'  he  proceeded, 
his  eye  enlivened  with  an  unearthly  brightness,  '  my  pros 
pect  has  become  perfectly  glorious  :  the  great  secret  of  happy 
dying  is  a  simple  reliance  on  the  strength  of  CHRIST  ;  it  is 


INTRODUCTION. 


sweet  to  die  in  full  assurance  of  reposing  in  the  bosom  of 
my  Saviour.'  He  became  so  elated  with  his  theme  as  to 
forget  his  weakness,  till  checked  and  requested  to  be  silent. 
At  evening  he  asked  Dr.  Delancey  to  administer  the  com 
munion  to  him  the  following  day.  But  it  proved  too  late. 
The  Doctor  reached  his  dwelling  just  after  he  expired.  His 
last  hours  were  peaceful  and  happy,  and  attended  with  but 
little  bodily  suffering.1*  When  past  speaking,  he  would 
rivet  his  piercing  eye  upon  those  weeping  by  his  bedside, 
and  with  smiles  of  heavenly  joy  seemed  to  rebuke  their 
weakness  for  lamenting  his  departure.  He  sunk  down  with 
out  a  struggle  or  a  gasp,  and  found  an  apparently  easy  pas 
sage  through  'the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death.'  His 
body  is  laid  in  St.  Peter's  Churchyard,  f  there  to  repose  till 
aroused  from  its  long  slumber  by  the  archangel's  trump  on 
the  morning  of  the  resurrection.  His  spirit,  though  never 
privileged  to  exercise  its  powers  in  the  ministrations  of  GOD'S 
sanctuary  on  earth,  has  been  called  away—  (may  we  not 
add  ?)  for  the  express  purpose  of  an  employment  in  the  ser- 

*  I  am  allowed  to  transcribe  from  a  letter  written  at  the  time  of 
Lyde's  decease,  the  following  -passage  :  "Before  he  retired  for  the 
night  (Tuesday  night)7  his  aunt  said  to  him.  that,  as  he  was  unable  to 
read  his  Bible  (which  was  his  constant  study),  she  would  read  to  him  3 
and  she  inquired,  if  there  were  any  particular  chapters  which  he 
wished  to  hear.  He  named  the  fortieth  of  Isaiah.  When  she  had 
concluded  it,  he  remarked,  that  he  wished  to  meditate  a  little  upon  it  5 
and  after  a  time  he  requested  her  to  read  the  forty-third  chapter  of 
the  same  book."  —  EDITOR. 

t  From  the  letter  quoted  in  a  former  note,  we  subjoin  another  brief 
extract.  "  On  Friday  afternoon  his  funeral  took  place.  He  was  car 
ried  into  St.  Peter's  Church.  Bishop  White,  Dr.  Abercrombie,  and 
thirteen  other  clergymen  attended.  Bishop  Onderdonk  read  the  fu 
neral  service.  The  Church  was  crowded,  —  the  hymn  commencing 
1  Vital  spark  of  heavenly  flame  '  was  sung,  —  the  music  was  very 
solemn."  —  EDITOR. 


INTRODUCTION.  xxiii 

vices  of  that  better  temple,  not  made  with  hands,  eternal  in 
the  heavens. 

"  An  event,  however,  like  this,  is  a  mystery  too  deep  to  be 
fathomed  by  the  plummet  of  human  reason.  It  is  an  event 
which  the  friends  of  our  departed  brother  and  the  friends  of 
the  Church  must  of  necessity  mourn,  though  one  which 
cannot  fail  to  bend  a  submissive  heart  most  humbly  to  the 
will  of  GOD.  The  sun  of  his  earthly  existence  rose  with 
amazing  rapidity  and  brightness,  but  it  has  suddenly  sunk 
into  the  midnight  of  the  grave.  No  unsanctified  reasoning 
can  solve  the  question,  why  a  young  man,  with  faculties  so 
naturally  powerful  and  so  matured,  should  be  taken  from  the 
world  when  just  prepared  to  enter  it  with  honor  and  pre 
eminent  usefulness.  But  there  is  to  be  found  in  faith  a 
philosophy,  which,  if  truly  possessed,  will  hush  at  once 
every  secret  murmuring,  and  will  readily  reconcile  the  event 
to  our  minds,  by  a  living  dependence  upon  the  wisdom  and 
the  goodness  of  the  providence  of  GOD." 

In  "The  Missionary"  (published  at  Burlington) 
of  November  29th,  a  week  before  the  article  just 
quoted  appeared,  there  was  a  short  but  very  interest 
ing  notice  of  the  author  of  these  Remains,  which  it 
will  be  well  to  preserve.  It  is  here  quoted  entire. 

"The  Rev.  AUGUSTUS  FOSTER  LYDE,  deacon,  who  de 
parted  this  life  on  the  19th  instant  in  the  city  of  Philadelphia, 
was  a  young  man  of  no  ordinary  promise ;  and  his  decease, 
at  the  moment  when  he  seemed  just  fitted  for  usefulness 
in  the  cause  of  CHRIST  and  of  souls,  to  which  he  had  given 
himself  up,  enforces  fearfully  the  sentence  of  Holy  Scripture, 
'Be  still,  and  know  that  I  am  GOD  !'  Mr.  Lyde  was  a  gradu 
ate  of  Washington  College,  where  it  was  the  privilege  of  the 
present  writer  to  Avatch  the  first  opening  of  his  clear,  vigorous, 
and  manly  intellect.  He  had  not  quite  completed  the  three 


XXIV  INTRODUCTION. 

years'  term  of  study  at  the  General  Theological  Seminary, 
where  the  expectations  formed  of  him  at  Washington  College 
were  more  than  realized,  when  the  seeds  of  the  insidious 
disease  which  caused  his  death  were  first  detected.  He  was 
able  to  be  present  with  the  members  of  his  class,  who  were 
admitted  by  the  Bishop  of  New  York  to  the  holy  order  of 
deacons,  and  to  take  upon  himself  the  responsibilities  of  that 
sacred  office,  but  not  to  discharge  any  of  its  functions.  The 
progress  of  his  disease  was  singularly  rapid,  and  in  less  than 
five  months  after  his  ordination  he  was  taken  to  his  rest. 
There  is  little  reason  to  doubt,  that  intense  devotion  to  study 
was  the  proximate  cause  of  Mr.  Lyde's  disease.  But  there 
remains  to  those  who  knew  and  loved  him  the  precious  con 
solation,  that  the  zeal  to  which  he  fell  a  martyr  was  not  the 
unhallowed  thirst  for  secular  knowledge  merely,  or  for  tem 
poral  distinction,  but  the  zeal  of  GOD'S  house.  During  his 
connexion  with  the  General  Theological  Seminary,  after 
much  searching  of  heart,  many  prayers,  and  careful  consulta 
tion  of  those  who  Avere  over  him  in  the  LORD,  Mr.  Lyde  deter 
mined  to  devote  himself,  if  GOD  would  accept  the  offering,  to 
a  mission  in  China.  And  it  is  an  interesting  evidence  of  that 
generous  self-dedication  M'hich  had  become,  through  grace, 
his  characteristic  trait,  that  his  determination  was  made,  not 
in  expectation  of  valuable  services  to  be  rendered  by  him,  in 
the  prosecution  of  so  great  a  work,  but  of  calling  to  it  the 
attention  of  others  better  able  to  grapple  with  its  tremendous 
difficulties.  It  did  not  please  GOD  to  grant  him  the  desire  of 
his  heart.  Yet  it  is  just  to  say,  and  will  be  an  interesting 
reminiscence  of  his  brief  career,  that,  by  his  resolution  to 
undertake  the  Chinese  Mission,  the  attention  of  the  Protes 
tant  Episcopal  Church  was  first  strongly  turned  to  that  sub 
ject,  and  the  impulse,  under  GOD,  derived  from  him,  which  has 
led  to  the  establishment,  by  the  Domestic  and  Foreign  Mis 
sionary  Society,  of  a  Mission  to  China.  From  an  early  period 


INTRODUCTION.  XXV 

of  his  malady,  contrary  to  the  customary  hahit  of  consumptive 
patients,  he  anticipated  an  early  and  a  fatal  issue  ;  but,  strong 
in  the  grace  which  is  in  CHRIST  JESUS,  he  looked  upon 
death  with  calmness,  confidence,  and  cheerfulness.  When 
the  present  writer,  a  fortnight  before  his  death,  reminded  him, 
at  parting,  that,  whatever  the  result  might  be,  it  would  be 
ordered,  if  his  faith  was  firm,  in  infinite  mercy,  —  <  and  by 
Him,'  he  added,  with  a  smile,  '  who  doeth  all  things  well:  " 

The  last  exertion  to  write,  which  was  made  by  the 
subject  of  these  notices,  was  in  behalf  of  China,  and 
for  the  good  of  the  brethren  he  had  left  behind  him  in 
the  Seminary.  The  letter,  addressed  by  him  to  the 
members  of  the  Missionary  Society  with  which  he  had 
been  connected,  is  filled  with  feeling,  and  breathes  a 
spirit  of  the  most  complete  self-dedication  to  his  GOD 
and  Saviour,  and  most  earnest  love  for  his  fellow- 
men.  It  shall  be  recorded  presently.  We  now  ask 
attention  to  the  following  communication,  published  in 
the  same  number  of  "  The  Churchman  "  which  con 
tained  the  former  of  the  foregoing  obituary  notices. 

"On  the  receipt  of  the  intelligence  of  the  death  of  the  Rev. 
Augustus  F.  Lyde  at  the  Seminary,  a  meeting  of  the  stu 
dents  was  called  in  the  Chapel,  November  21st,  at  which  the 
letter  announcing  his  death  was  read.  The  following  resolu 
tions,  expressive  of  the  sense  of  the  students  on  the  event,  were 
adopted  ;  and  a  committee  was  appointed  to  prepare  a  brief 
biography  of  our  late  brother  for  publication  in  the  periodicals 
of  the  Church,  together  with  the  adopted  resolutions,  and  a  let 
ter  received  a  few  weeks  since  from  Mr.  Lyde,  addressed  to 
the  Missionary  Society  of  the  Seminary,  his  last  effort  in 
behalf  of  the  cause  to  which  he  was  pledged,  —  the  cause  of 
Missions. 

c 


XXvi  INTRODUCTION. 

"  From  the  first  part  of  their  duty  the  committee  thus  ap 
pointed  are  relieved  by  the  full  and  satisfactory  biography 
which  appears  in  'The  Churchman'  of  this  week,  furnished  by 
an  intimate  and  confidential  friend  of  Mr.  Lyde,  and  who  was 
therefore  better  qualified  than  any  other  for  the  office  of  his 
biographer.  The  missionary  letter  alluded  to  will  appear  in 
1  The  Churchman '  of  next  week.  The  following  are  the  reso 
lutions,  which  were  unanimously  adopted. 

"  Resolved,  That  the  decease  of  our  late  brother,  the  Rev. 
AUGUSTUS  F.  LYDE,  is  received  by  us  with  emotions  of  unaf 
fected  sorrow  ;  and  of  thankfulness  to  the  GOD  of  all  grace, 
that  we  can  sorrow  as  those  who  have  hope. 

"  Resolved,  That  we  regard  this  dispensation  of  the  Divine 
Providence  as  solemnly  admonishing  us  to  be  watchful  and 
diligent ;  that,  whenever  our  Master  may  summon  us  hence, 
we  may  be  ready  and  waiting. 

"  Resolved,  That,  while  we  bow  with  humility  to  the  will  of 
GOD  in  this  event,  we  cannot  but  entertain  a  deep  sense  of 
~the  loss  sustained  by  the  friends  of  our  deceased  brother ;  by 
the  ministry  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church ;  and  pecu 
liarly  by  the  Missionary  cause,  to  which  he  was  pledged. 

"  Resolved,  That  a  committee  be  appointed  to  present  to  the 
family  of  our  deceased  brother  a  copy  of  the  above  resolu 
tions,  with  the  assurance  of  our  heartfelt  condolence. 

«W.  F.  WALKER,  Chairman." 

The  letter,  to  which  allusion  has  been  made,  is  a 
precious  document  to  the  friends  of  our  departed 
brother  ;  but  it  is  valuable  to  all,  and  is  especially 
worthy  of  consideration  by  those  who  have  entered, 
or  are  purposing  to  enter,  upon  the  duties  and  respon 
sibilities  of  the  Christian  ministry  ;  for  every  minister 
is  a  missionary,  and  should  seek  to  be  certain  that  he 


INTRODUCTION.  XXVll 

occupies  his  proper  place  in  the  labor  of  his  master's 
harvest.  It  follows,  as  printed  in  "  The  Churchman  " 
of  December  13th,  1834. 

"  Philadelphia,  October,  1834. 
«  Brethren  of  the  Missionary  Society, 

« It  matters  little  to  me  that  my  personal  connexion  with  the 
Association  has  been  dissolved ;  that  I  no  longer  appear  in 
your  midst  when  you  meet  in  pursuance  of  your  glorious  ob 
jects.  I  am,  and  ever  will  be  to  the  end  of  life,  a  member  of 
the  Missionary  Association  in  heart. 

"  It  is  well  known  to  all  or  most  of  you,  that  I  had  deter 
mined,  by  the  help  of  GOD,  to  preach  the  Gospel  to  the  hea 
then  in  China;  but  GOD  in  his  infinite  wisdom  has  seen  fit  to 
dispose  it  otherwise,  and  has  removed  the  probability  of  my 
preaching  the  Gospel  to  Christian  or  heathen.  I  do  not  ad 
dress  you  then  in  levity  or  inconsiderateness,  but  in  the  calm 
expectation  of  death.  The  point  on  which  I  stand  is  a  deeply 
solemn  one  ;  may  we  mutually  realize  it.  Standing  on  this 
elevated  point,  and  making  a  retrospect  of  my  short  life,  I 
bend  my  eye  along  the  causes  which  have  contributed  to 
create  and  modify  my  moral  and  religious  character.  Leav 
ing  the  first  operations  of  GOD'S  SPIRIT,  I  wander  along  a 
dark  and  weary  Avay,  cheered  by  but  few  Christian  hopes  and 
attainments,  until  my  eye  rests  upon  an  elevation  imposing 
and  bright.  It  is  beautiful  with  '  the  feet  of  them  that  bring 
good  tidings,  that  bring  good  tidings  of  good;'  it  is  radiant 
with  the  same  glorious  light,  that  first  broke  in  upon  my  mind 
and  scattered  away  its  accumulated  ignorance  and  sorrow. 

«  '  Mighty  through  GOD  ! '  I  involuntarily  exclaim,  and,  in 
view  of  eternity,  hail  the  Missionary  Association,  as  under 
GOD,  and  his  appointed  means  of  grace,  the  mightiest  cause 
that  he  has  brought  to  bear  upon  the  salvation  of  my  soul. 


INTRODUCTION. 


«  You  will  immediately  infer  from  what  I  have  said,  that  I 
consider  it  your  duty  and  privilege,  and  I  hope  you  will  con 
sider  it  in  the  same  light  precisely,  to  perform  most  punctually 
all  the  duties  required.  It  is  only  by  such  a  uniform  course 
of  conduct,  that  the  prosperity  of  a  society  is  preserved,  and 
its  advantages  fully  secured. 

"  But  it  is  not  at  the  general  meetings  of  the  Society,  nor 
yet  the  meetings  of  your  committees  (which  should  be  made 
as  conversational  as  possible),  that  the  Missionary  spirit  is  to 
be  acquired.  Alas!  alas!  how  many  there  are,  who  mistake 
the  interest  felt  in  the  pursuit  of  what  is  novel  and  strange, 
or  the  sympathy  excited  by  human  suffering,  or  the  glow- 
occasioned  by  the  view  of  a  great  moral  enterprise,  for  a 
deep  and  fervent  love  for  the  souls  of  perishing  men  !  Often 
too,  the  ardor,  excited  by  some  powerful  and  moving  appeal  in 
behalf  of  this  great  cause,  is  nothing  more  than  a  natural 
sympathetic  emotion,  instead  of  the  powerful  movings  of  GOD'S 
HOLT  SPIRIT. 

"  O  no,  my  dear  Christian  brethren  ;  it  is  only  in  the  holy, 
quiet  retirement  of  your  closet,  that  this  pure  spirit  is  to  be 
sought  and  found.  Prayer,  —  earnest,  constant  prayer,  (in  the 
deeply  expressive  language  of  Paul)  the  <  groanings  which 
cannot  be  uttered,'  will  bring  down  the  blessing  we  seek  like 
the  morning  dew  and  the  early  rain.  The  other  means  are 
powerful  in  their  place  ;  but  here  we  win  the  blessing  of  GOD, 
as  it  were,  immediately. 

"  But,  my  Christian  brethren,  these  are  but  the  preparatory 
steps  to  a  higher  and  nobler  course  of  duty.  An  ardent  love 
for  the  souls  of  men  is  holy  and  acceptable  in  itself:  but 
Christian  virtue,  most  unlike  the  cold  theories  of  man,  has 
within  itself  the  elements  of  vigorous  resolve  and  action;  they 
are  component  parts  of  its  existence.  Has  not  then  each  one 
of  you  present  a  personal  duty  beyond  all  this,  in  reference  to 


INTRODUCTION. 

the  great  Missionary  cause  ?  Is  there  not  treasured  up,  in  the 
futurity  of  appointed  duty,  some  further  resolve  and  action  of 
yet  unconceived  moment?  Let  us  assume  the  remotest  possi 
bility  that  can  be  taken  into  the  estimate,  that  it  is  the  duty 
of  but  one  out  of  your  whole  number  to  preach  the  gospel  to  the 
heathen.  Suppose,  that  it  were  communicated  to  you  while  to 
gether,  that  there  was  an  unfailing  certainty  that  one  among 
you  should  leave  home  and  country  for  CHRIST'S  sake  and  the 
Gospel's.  How  would  the  message  be  received?  Every  Chris 
tian  heart,  (and  such  are  all,  I  trust,)  would  at  once  respond  to 
the  possibility,  and  ask,  '  Lord,  is  it  I  ? '  nor  would  he  cease 
to  pray,  and  read,  and  meditate,  until  he  could  speak  out 
from  the  darkness  of  uncertainty,  'Lord,  I  will  follow  thee 
whithersoever  thou  goest.'  But  in  the  name  and  presence 
of  Almighty  GOD,  in  view  of  our  destiny  for  eternity,  as  we 
expect  to  stand  before  the  judgment-seat  of  CHRIST,  does  any 
one  believe,  that  the  Saviour,  the  LORD  of  missions  and  salva 
tion,  requires  but  one  missionary  from  your  whole  number  ? 
Does  any  one  believe,  that  the  Avhole  heathen  world,  with  its 
hundreds  of  millions,  claims  but  one  Missionary  from  the  Prot 
estant  Episcopal  Church  ?  Do  not  disguise  the  fact.  You 
know,  that,  if  they  go  not  from  our  seminaries,  they  will  never 
go  ;  these  are  the  only  probable  sources  of  supply. 

"  In  reply  to  the  above  questions,  in  the  confidence  of 
truth,  I  answer,  No,  To  every  one,  then,  I  would  say,  '  It  may, 
or  it  may  not,  be  your  duty  to  go  abroad.  If  it  is  not,  you 
should  be  prepared  to  go  wherever  your  Divine  Master  may 
be  pleased  to  send  you.  If  it  should  be  your  duty,  (I  tremble 
at  the  possibilities  of  the  case,)  under  what  awful  responsi 
bilities  do  you  lie  !  You  stand  in  the  relation  of  one,  who 
turns  away  from  the  path  that  GOD  points  out  to  him,  and 
chooses  one  for  himself.'  There  is  no  one  present  but  would 
revolt  at  such  a  thought. 

"Let  me  in  conclusion  add  a  few  more  particular  remarks. 


XXX  INTRODUCTION. 

There  is  very  great  danger  of  erring  in  the  decision,  by  draw 
ing  up  a  long  list  of  qualifications  on  the  authority  perhaps 
of  some  writer,  and  excusing  ourselves  thus  on  several  grounds 
entirely  insufficient.  There  are  necessary  qualifications  ;  but 
we  should  pray  much  before  we  excuse  ourselves  for  any  sin 
gle  reason. 

"  Again.  It  is  clear  that  no  man  can  say,  previous  to  an 
investigation,  that  it  is  out  of  the  question  that  he  should  go. 
Of  course  I  here  except  domestic  necessities.  But  there  are 
many  to  whom  the  thought  is  so  entirely  new  and  almost 
chimerical,  that  they  dismiss  it  without  a  thought.  Refined 
education,  or  talent,  or  expectations,  stand  for  ever  between 
them  and  faithfulness  to  their  souls. 

"Farewell,  my  dear  Christian  brethren!  I  feel  like  one 
who  sees  his  brothers  on  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  where  he 
himself  found  out  dangers  at  which  the  heart  may  tremble. 
But '  let  not  your  heart  be  troubled.'  I  have  all  along  presup 
posed  that  the  HOLY  SPIRIT  would  be  afforded  abundantly, 
and  in  the  use  of  GOD'S  appointed  means,  in  his  appointed 
way.  You  cannot,  as  surely  as  GOD  is  true,  you  cannot  fail 
of  his  approbation. 

"  Once  more,  farewell !  and  that  the  GOD  of  all  mercy  may 
guide  you  all  in  your  investigations,  is  the  earnest  prayer  of 
"  Your  fellow-member  and  brother  in  CHRIST, 

"  A.  F.  LYDE." 

It  is  unnecessary  to  add  any  words  in  approba 
tion  of  this  epistle.  It  speaks  for  itself  most  eloquent 
ly.  Nor  is  it  necessary  to  enlarge  upon  the  personal 
character  of  its  writer.  And  we  would  not  trespass 
upon  the  office  of  a  biographer.  It  seems,  however, 
while  we  are  collecting  here  the  chief  documents 
which  relate  to  our  brother,  to  be  right,  as  well  as 
agreeable  to  his  friends,  to  annex  in  this  place  a  few 
poetical  pieces  produced  soon  after  his  decease. 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxi 

"LINES* 
"OCCASIONED  BY  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  REV.  AUGUSTUS  F.  LYDE. 

"  WHY  now  so  sad  the  halls,  where  late  were  heard 
His  admonitions  to  proclaim  the  word 
To  heathen  nations,  to  a  drowsy  world  ? 
Why  now  are  pitying  eyes  with  tears  impearled  ? 
And  why  does  each,  with  anxious,  heaving  breast, 
Emotions  tell,  by  language  unexpressed  ? 
Lyde  is  no  more  !  —  The  star,  which  was  to  beam 
Through  China's  mists,  and  break  the  sluggish  dream 
Of  Pagan  hopes,  no  longer  yields  its  light;  — 
Lyde  is  no  more  !  —  o'er  China  still  is  night. 
Weep  ye,  who  late  were  by  his  counsels  led ; 
Ye,  who  the  cause  for  which  your  Saviour  bled 
Loved  more  because  he  loved  it,  o'er  the  bier 
Of  holy  friendship  drop  the  hallowed  tear. 
Weep,  heaven-devoted,  dedicated  band, 
Who  know  no  other  charm  nor  potent  wand, 
Than  Christian  fellowship  in  hopes  and  fears  ; 
Your  loved  companion  now  no  longer  rears 
The  sacred  standard  high  for  distant  climes ;  — 
Lyde  is  no  more  !  —  so  speak  his  muffled  chimes. 

"  Weep  thou,  for  whom  the  richest  robe  of  white, 
The  shining  mantle  of  pure  Gospel  light, 
The  SON  OF  GOD  provided,  honored  bride, 
The  Saviour's  glory  and  the  Saviour's  pride, 
Yes,  Church  of  GOD,  thy  tears  should  freely  flow, 
Another  soldier  of  the  Cross  lies  low  ; 
Another  min'ster  from  thy  altar  riven, 
Has  quit  thy  service  to  be  heir  in  heaven  ;  — 

*  From  "  The  Churchman  "  of  December  Gth,  1834. 


XXXll  INTRODUCTION. 

Mourn  for  thyself,  and  for  thy  children  mourn ! 
The  graces  for  thee  gathered,  upward  borne, 
No  more  are  used  for  thee,  but  for  thy  son 
Secure  an  access  to  Messiah's  throne  ;  — 
Mourn  for  thyself,  —  thy  champion  is  no  more  ! 
He,  who  thy  glory  in  his  wishes  bore, 
Has  left  the  world's  cold  scorn  and  chilling  frown, 
To  wear  in  heaven  a  celestial  crown. 

"  But  more,  much  more  shouldst  thou,  O  China,  sun 
Of  heathen  systems,  mourn  !  else  had  he  won 
For  thee  of  Christian  life  and  Christian  hope  the  prize, 
The  blessed  Gospel,  passport  to  the  skies  ; 
His  manly  voice  no  more  for  thee  employs 
Its  deepest  strains  to  gain  eternal  joys  : 
For  thy  fond  children,  sharers  of  the  soil 
Which  cost  the  Saviour's  trouble  and  his  toil, 
The  Saviour's  passion  and  the  Saviour's  breath, 
He  pleaded  while  in  life,  he  pleads  in  death ! 

C.  R.  A." 

"  LINES  * 

"UPON  THE  DEATH  OF  THE  REV.  A.  F.  LYDE. 

T  is  done ;  —  the  weary  struggle  's  past,  — 


a  5 


The  trembling  and  the  dread;  — 
The  darksome  vale  is  left  at  last, 

And  thou  art  with  the  dead  ! 
« Beauty  for  ashes,'  and  the  light 
Of  heavenly  day  for  sorrow's  night ; 
For  sunken  eye  and  trembling  limb, 
The  spirit-shape  of  Cherubim  ; 
And,  for  earth's  tainted  joys,  divine 
And  ceaseless  ecstasies  are  thine  ! 


*  From  "  The  Churchman  "  of  December  13th,  1834. 


INTRODUCTION.  XXXlll 

"  We  would  not  mourn  thy  parting  hence, 

But  hail  thy  happy  flight 
From  the  low  trammellings  of  sense, 

And  sin's  debasing  might: 
We  would  not,  but  that  o'er  the  world 
The  clouds  of  death  brood  all  unfurled, 
And  souls  are  hurrying  wave  on  wave, 
And  breaking  on  life's  shore,  the  grave  ; 
And  when  to  this  sad  scene  we  turn, 
'T  is  not  for  thee,  but  them,  we  mourn! 

"  For  thy  touched  spirit  was  on  fire 

With  an  heroic  zeal ; 
GOD'S  glory  was  thy  soul's  desire, 

And  man's  immortal  weal ; 
Thy  loins  were  girt,  thy  staff  in  hand, 
And  in  thy  heart  thy  Lord's  command, 
And  thou  wert  burning  to  depart, 
And  light  and  life  and  joy  impart ; 
To  open  in  the  waste  a  spring, 
And  make  dark  China's  deserts  sing  ! 

"  Yes, —  now  I  see  thee  in  our  midst, 

As  our  grieved  bosoms  swell, 
Shivering  with  feeling  as  thou  bidd'st 

Thy  brethren  all  farewell ! 
Again  I  hear  that  solemn  tone, 
Which  told  the  struggles  thou  hadst  known;  — 
'Quench  not  the  SPIRIT!'  was  the  word, 
Which,  'mid  thy  gushing  tears,  we  heard, 
Marking,  in  thy  then  fervent  breath, 
The  hollowness  of  coming  death!  * 


*  An  allusion  to  the  incidents  of  the  last  meeting  of  the  Missionary 
Society  of  the  General  Theological  Seminary,  of  which  he  was  the  Presi- 


XXXIV  INTRODUCTION. 

"  Mysterious  GOD  !    whose  anger  hath 

Issues  of  joy  and  good  ; 
Who  scatterest  blessings  in  thy  wrath, 

And  frown'st  beatitude  ; 

Whose  whirlwinds  and  whose  lightnings  bring 
A  blessing  on  their  fearful  wing ; 
Make  us  to  feel,  in  this  the  hour 
Of  sorrow's  wild  and  tempting  power, 
How  poor  the  thoughts  of  erring  dust, 
And  that  thy  judgments  all  are  just ! 

"  Now  joy  to  thee,  thou  ransomed  one ! 

For  thou  hast  gone  on  high  ; 
The  crown  of  glory  thou  hast  won, 

And  wed  felicity ! 

The  Saviour,  who  hath  led  thee  here, 
Through  earth's  dark  wilderness  and  drear, 
Shall  guide  thee,  with  a  friendly  hand, 
Through  all  that  green  and  better  land, 
Th'  unvisioned  Paradise  above, 
Where  thought  is  bliss,  and  life  is  love  ! 

B. 

"General  Theological  Seminary,  N.  Y., 
November  22,  1834." 


dent.  At  that  time  he  told  us  of  his  hopes  and  fears  5  of  his  hopes,  that  he 
might  yet  be  enabled  to  proceed  to  China  as  a  missionary,  and  thus  fulfil 
the  warmest  wishes  of  his  heart; — of  his  fears,  that  the  hand  of  death  was 
already  upon  him.  After  a  striking  description  of  the  struggle  through 
which  he  had  passed  in  coming  to  the  determination  to  go  abroad,  and  ex 
pressing  the  conviction  that  he  had  resisted  the  strivings  of  the  SPIRIT  OF 
GOD  urging  him  to  the  work,  he  concluded  with  the  impressive  admoni 
tion,  not  soon  to  be  forgotten  by  those  who  heard  him;  "  Quench  not  the 
SPIRIT!" 


INTRODUCTION.  XXXV 

« SONNET 

"  SUGGESTED    BY   THE   EPITAPH   OF    THE   LAMENTED    LYDE.* 

"HERE  sleeps  a  herald  of  the  Cross,  whose  voice 

In  hallowed  fanes  was  never  lifted  up, 

Whose  hands  ne'er  blessed  the  sacramental  cup, 
Nor  brake  the  bread,  the  faithful  to  rejoice ; 
And  yet  he  panted  with  a  holy  zeal 

To  cross  the  storm- white  wave,  and  fearless  show, 

To  countless  worshippers  of  fabled  Fo, 
That  fount,  whose  waters  all  pollutions  heal. 
With  living  faith,  and  apostolic  love, 

The  youthful  warrior  had  prepared  to  roam, 
When  the  sad  mandate  issued  from  above, 

To  stay  his  steps,  and  call  him  to  his  home ; 
Mourner,  weep  not !  '  our  Father's  will  be  done  ! ' 
He  hath  some  other  work  to  give  his  son. 

B.  D.  W." 

Upon  a  plain  marble  slab,  enclosed  in  the  church 
yard  of  St.  Peter's  church,  Philadelphia,  may  be  read 
this  faithful  and  touching  inscription,  prepared  by 
Bishop  Doane  of  New  Jersey  : 

"  Sacred  to  the  Memory 

of 
The  Reverend  AUGUSTUS  FOSTER  LYDE, 

A  Deacon 

Of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  in  the  United  States ; 
Who  was  born  in  Wilmington,  North  Carolina, 

February  4th,  1813; 

And  died  in  the  City  of  Philadelphia, 

November  19th,  1834. 


*  It  was  presented  by  the  writer  to  a  friend  of  the  deceased.     Whether 
it  has  been  ever  published,  the  Editor  is  not  informed. 


XXX  vi  INTRODUCTION. 

It  was  in  his  Heart 
To  preach  the  Gospel  to  the  Chinese ; 

And  for  this  Service 

He  had  offered  himself  to  GOD,  and  the  Church. 

But  it  pleased  his  Heavenly  Father 

To  call  him  early  home, 

And  he  died, 

At  21, 
Patient,  cheerful,  victorious, 

Through  the  faith 
Of  the  LORD  JESUS  CHRIST." 

We  will  extend  this  introduction  by  a  few  observa 
tions  upon  the  literary  Remains  of  Lyde.  As  the 
plan  of  the  Editor  of  these  Remains  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  preparation  of  a  memoir  of  our  brother,  no 
effort  has  been  made  to  collect  his  correspondence. 
We  may  suppose,  from  his  general  character,  that 
such  a  collection,  exhibiting  the  more  secret  oper 
ations  of  his  mind  and  heart,  in  familiar  epistolary 
communications,  must  be  peculiarly  interesting.  In 
selecting  the  materials  for  the  present  volume,  the 
Editor  has  had  occasion  to  revise  a  number  of  more 
formal  compositions,  such  as  themes  written  in  Col 
lege,  and  disquisitions  upon  various  subjects,  besides 
essays  written  during  the  course  of  his  theological 
studies,  and  addresses  upon  different  occasions,  also 
fragments  of  compositions,  and  single  thoughts  pre 
served  on  loose  papers.  All  these  pieces  exhibit  a 
sound  judgment,  a  habit  of  patient  reflection,  a  luxu 
riant  and  almost  uncontrollable  imagination.  Some 
of  his  later  pieces  are  very  elaborate.  And  the  com 
parison  of  them,  as  written  at  different  periods,  while 


INTRODUCTION.  XXXV11 

all  have  the  same  characteristics,  evinces  the  result 
of  constant  study  and  habitual  discipline,  —  a  rapid  im 
provement,  enlargement  of  comprehensiveness,  culti 
vation  of  taste.  The  various  prose  productions,  which 
have  been  furnished  to  the  notice  of  the  Editor,  show 
that  the  elements  of  his  mind  were  well  distributed, 
and  were  of  a  superior  class. 

But  the  literary  Remains,  which  it  becomes  the  Ed 
itor  to  speak  of  with  more  particularity,  are  Poeti 
cal, —  what  are  submitted  in  the  present  little  volume. 
The  most  remarkable  characteristic  in  our  brother's 
mind  was  depth  of  sentiment.  This  principle  of  senti 
ment  impressed  its  influence  upon  all  his  mental  acts, 
and  gave  a  peculiarity  to  even  his  manners  in  social 
life.  Gifted  with  quick  perceptions,  a  discriminating 
judge  of  the  character  of  actions  and  persons,  he  was 
moved  by  the  tenderest  pity,  or  the  most  yearning 
love,  or  the  most  generous  enthusiasm,  and  he  was 
capable  of  the  keenest  satire.  Owing  to  this,  he  was 
uncommunicative  with  strangers,  but  free  to  converse 
where  he  felt  sympathy  ;  he  disliked  and  shunned  dis 
putation,  and  gave  his  opinions  sententiously.  His 
poems  are  full  of  pure  and  captivating  sentiment, 
while  they  are  devoid  of  its  opposite,  —  sentimental- 
ism.  The  piece  entitled  "  Home  of  my  Childhood," 
and  the  poem  entitled  "  Humility,"  and  that  entitled 
"The  Death  of  Moses,"  are  affecting  and  beautiful 
illustrations  of  this  remark. 

We  must  observe,  that  this  collection  of  pieces  is 
not  brought  forward  to  compete  with  the  matured 
and  finished  productions  of  professional  and  educated 
d 


XXXV  ill  INTRODUCTION. 

poets.  And  yet  these  pieces  have  high  intrinsic 
merit.  They  are  irregular  many  times  in  their  meas 
ure.  They  need  the  "  limse  labor  et  mora,"  which 
their  Author  was  never  suffered  to  bestow.  They  are 
published  as  he  left  them,  with  all  their  imperfections. 
Yet  they  are  filled  with  "the  soul  of  poetry,"  and,  in 
many  places,  their  construction  is  very  perfect.  We 
cannot  but  think,  (although  it  is  possible  our  personal 
partialities  for  the  Author  may  blind  our  judgment,) 
that  these  pieces  of  Lyde  will  occupy  no  mean  posi 
tion  on  the  scale  of  American  poetry.  They  are  as 
yet,  in  some  respects,  unique  in  the  history  of  Ameri 
can  poetry,  —  the  Remains  of  a  very  youthful,  and 
talented,  and  pious  student. 

Let  it  be  borne  in  mind,  that  these  pieces  were 
nearly  all  written  before  their  Author  had  arrived  at 
eighteen  years  of  age  ;  and  that,  when  he  departed 
this  life,  his  mind  was  not  fully  matured.  Habit 
uated  to  but  few  intimacies,  and  a  student,  his  fac 
ulties  could  not  ripen  so  rapidly,  as  in  the  case  of 
those,  who  have  many  companions,  and  are  thrown 
early  into  active  society.  Three  or  four  years  more 
would  have  developed  capacities,  of  which  he  was 
just  becoming  conscious,  when  he  deceased.  And  for 
the  last  three  years  of  his  life  he  paid  but  little  atten 
tion  to  poetry,  from  conscientious  motives.  If  he  had 
reviewed  these  pieces  at  a  short  period  before  his 
death,  they  would  undoubtedly  have  been  much  im 
proved.  The  last  piece  composed  by  him  was  that 
entitled  "Humility,"  written  a  year  or  two  previous 
to  his  decease  ;  and  he  at  that  time  expressed  a  de- 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxix 

termination  to  deny  himself  thenceforth  the  enjoy 
ment  of  poetical  composition,  that  he  might  devote 
himself  more  unreservedly  to  the  serious  and  labori 
ous  duties  which  he  had  chosen. 

These  Buds,  whose  stalk  was  cut  down,  before  they 
were  allowed  to  expand  fully  into  the  shining  flower, 
yet  are  beautiful,  and  show  how  lovely  would  have 
been  their  maturity.  We  have  thought  they  ought 
not  to  wither  in  darkness  and  perish,  and  have  at 
tempted  thus  to  preserve  them  for  a  time.  The  name 
of  Lyde  is  already  familiar  to  Episcopalians  in  this 
country,  and  is  cherished  by  them.  Removed  from 
the  circle  of  his  friends  and  the  prospects  of  much 
usefulness  in  the  militant  Church,  at  a  very  early  age, 
yet,  even  in  this  beginning  of  his  days,  the  origi 
nator  of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Mission  to  China  ; 
having  a  mind  richly  stored  with  human  learning, 
and  a  heart  thoroughly  imbued  with  divine  grace  ; 
enthusiastic,  energetic,  refined,  he  has  been  fondly 
remembered,  and  his  loss  will  be  long  deplored.  To 
many  personal  friends,  and  to  many  who  have  heard 
of  him,  these  simple  poems  will  commend  themselves. 

We  cannot  better  conclude  this  preface,  than  by 
applying  to  the  subject  of  it,  the  words,  slightly  al 
tered,  of  Southey,  at  the  close  of  his  very  interest 
ing  "  Account  of  the  Life  of  Henry  Kirke  White," 
the  minute  and  expressive  appropriateness  of  which 
has  been  observed  since  the  title  of  our  little  vol 
ume  was  selected.  "  The  reader,  who  feels  any 
admiration  for  Lyde,  will  take  some  interest  in  these 
Remains,  because  they  are  his  ;  he,  who  shall  feel 


xl  INTRODUCTION. 

none,  must  have  a  blind  heart,  and  therefore  a  blind 

understanding The  very   circumstance    of 

his  early  death  gives  a  new  interest  to  his  memory, 
and  thereby  new  force  to  his  example.  Just  at  that 
age  when  the  painter  would  have  wished  to  fix  his 
likeness,  and  the  lover  of  poetry  would  delight  to 
contemplate  him,  in  the  fair  morning  of  his  virtues, 
the  full  spring  blossom  of  his  hopes, — just  at  that 
age  hath  death  set  the  seal  of  eternity  upon  him, 

and  the  beautiful  hath  been  made  permanent 

His  temper  had  been  irritable  in  his  younger  days,  but 
this  he  had  long  since  effectually  overcome.  His  con 
versation  was  always  sober,  and  to  the  purpose.  That 
which  was  most  remarkable  in  him,  was  his  uniform 
good  sense,  a  faculty  perhaps  less  common  than  genius. 
There  never  existed  a  more  dutiful  son,  a  more  affec 
tionate  brother,  a  warmer  friend,  nor  a  devouter 
Christian.  Of  his  powers  of  mind  it  is  superfluous 
to  speak  ;  they  were  acknowledged  wherever  they 
were  known.  It  would  be  idle,  too,  to  say,  what  hopes 
were  entertained  of  him,  and  what  he  might  have 
accomplished  in  literature.  This  volume  contains 
specimens  of  what  he  has  left,  immature  buds,  and 
blossoms  shaken  from  the  tree,  and  green  fruit ;  yet 
will  these  evince  what  the  harvest  would  have  been, 
and  secure  for  him  a  remembrance. 

'  Thou  soul  of  GOD'S  best  earthly  mould, 
Thou  happy  soul  !   and  can  it  be 
That  these        ..... 
Are  all  that  must  remain  of  thee  ? ' 

WORDSWORTH." 


INTRODUCTION.  xli 

The  following  tribute  to  the  memory  of  our  friend 
has  been  kindly  furnished  for  insertion  in  this  vol 
ume,  by  one  who  knew  him  well,  the  distinguished 
American  poetess,  Mrs.  Sigourney.  Its  justice  is 
equalled  only  by  its  beauty. 

AUGUSTUS   FOSTER   LYDE. 

THOU  wert  a  musing  student  o'er  thy  book, 
When  first  I  saw  thee.     Yet  the  eagle's  wing 
Soars  not  more  duly  sunward,  than  thy  mind 
From  cliff  to  cliff  of  knowledge  urged  its  way, 
Kindling  and  glorying  at  the  proud  career. 
A  ripe,  rare  spirit  wrought  within  thy  form 
Of  boyish  beauty. 

But  thy  glance  grew  deep, 
Feeding  on  secret,  solitary  thought, 
With  speechless  joy.     For  thou  didst  hear  that  voice 
From  voiceless  nature,— in  the  wind  that  swept 
Around  thy  cloistered  casement,  in  the  stream 
Freshening  the  foliage  of  yon  classic  grove, 
And  in  the  whisper  of  the  lone  wild  flower,  — 
Which  none  but  poets  hear.     Thy  wakened  lyre, 
Sweet  son  of  song !  won  thee  warm  brotherhood 
With  many  a  loving  heart. 

Yet  not  the  realm 

Of  ancient  Learning,  thronged  with  classic  shapes, 
Nor  rose-wreathed  Poesy's  delightful  bowers, 
Contented  thee.     Thy  soul  had  holier  aims, 
And  from  Castalian  waters  meekly  turned 
To  the  pure  brook  that  kissed  thy  Saviour's  feet, 


xlii  INTRODUCTION. 

What  time  to  dark-browed  Olivet  he  went 
For  lowly  prayer.     And  ever  o'er  thine  hour 
Of  deep  devotion  China's  millions  stole, 
Blind,  wandering,  lost. 

And  then  thou  didst  dismiss 
The  host  of  pleasant  fancies,  that  so  long 
Had  made  thy  pilgrimage  a  music-strain, 
And  for  the  outcast  heathen  pledge  thy  life, 
A  diamond,  to  the  treasury  of  thy  LORD. 
—  Heaven  took  the  pledge  ;  —  yet  not  for  weary  years 
Of  toil,  and  pain,  and  age  :  —  there  was  a  flush 
On  thy  young  cheek,  —  a  fire  within  thine  eye, — 
A  failing  of  the  footstep,  that  was  wont 
To  tread  green  earth  so  firm  and  buoyantly, — 
A  wasting  of  the  half-ethereal  clay ;  — 
Heaven  took  the  pledge,  and  thou  art  all  its  own. 

L.  H.  S. 


POETICAL    REMAINS 


OF 


AUGUSTUS    FOSTER    LYDE 


•'  Nam  vitiis  nemo  sine  nascitur  ;  optimus  ille  est, 
Qui  minimis  urgetur." 

HOR.  Sat.  I.  in.  68,69. 


'  Hushed  is  the  Lyre,  —  the  hand,  that  swept 
The  low  and  pensive  wires, 
Robbed  of  its  cunning,  from  the  task  retires. 

(Yes,  —  it  is  still, —  the  Lyre  is  still  j 
The  spirit,  which  its  slumbers  broke, 
Hath  passed  away.  . 

'Yet  I  would  press  you  to  my  lips  once  more, 
Ye  wild,  ye  withering  flowers  of  poesy ; 
Yet  would  I  drink  the  fragrance  which  ye  pour, 
Mixed  with  decaying  odors." 

H.  K.  WHITE. 


TO 

MESSRS.  LOCKWOOD,  HANSON,   AND   BOONE, 
MISSIONARIES  IN  CHINA 

OF   THE    PROTESTANT    EPISCOPAL    CHURCH    IN    THE  UNITED  STATES 
TO 

THE    SURVIVING   MEMBERS    OF    THE    CLASS 

WHICH  GRADUATED  IN  THE  YEAR  1834 

FROM    THE    GENERAL    THEOLOGICAL    SEMINARY 

OF    THE    PROTESTANT    EPISCOPAL    CHURCH    IN    THE  UNITED    STATES 

AND  TO 

THE    ALUMNI    GENERALLY    OF    THE    SAME    INSTITUTION  ; 
THIS    MEMORIAL    OF 

LYDE 

IS    DEDICATED    BY 

T.  H.  V. 


The  memory  of  the  just  is  blessed." 


"  These  honors,  Lyre,  we  yet  may  keep  ; 
I,  still  unknown,  may  live  with  thee, 
And  gentle  zephyr's  wing  will  sweep 
Thy  solemn  string-,  where  low  I  sleep, 
Beneath  the  alder  tree. 

"This  little  dirge  will  please  me  more 
Than  the  full  requiem's  swelling  peal  5 
I  'd  rather,  than  that  crowds  should  sigh 
For  me,  that  from  some  kindred  eye 
The  trickling  tear  should  steal." 

H.  K.  WHITE. 


POETICAL     REMAINS. 


STANZA, 

PREFATORY    TO    HIS    ALBUM.* 

FAIR  is  the  wreath  round  friendship's  brow  entwined, 
Friendship,  so  dear  to  every  noble  mind  ; 
Earth  were  a  wilderness,  her  power  once  lost; 
Man,  a  sad  shipwreck  o'er  life's  ocean  tost. 


*  In  the  remainder  of  this  volume  the  notes  are  by  the  Editor.  As 
these  poems  were  many  of  them  written  upon  detached  sheets  and  scraps 
of  paper,  and  the  rest  copied  carelessly  into  an  Album,  the  Editor  has 
been  obliged  frequently  to  furnish  their  titles.  The  age  of  our  Author 
when  the  several  pieces  were  composed,  will  be  given,  whenever  it  can 
be  done.  The  stanza  above  was  written  when  he  was  about  fourteen 
years  of  age. 


1 


HOME  OF  MY  CHILDHOOD.* 

He  gave  to  memory  all  he  had,  —  a  tear; 

He  gained  from  Heaven,  't  was  all  he  wished,  a  friend. 

GRAY. 

FAR  o'er  the  billows,  —  far  away, 
My  heart,  my  hopes,  my  wishes  stray  ; 
By  night,  —  by  day,  —  bright  visions  come, 
To  tell  me  of  an  absent  home. 

Home  of  my  childhood  !    though  I  rove 
Far,  —  far  from  those  whom  most  I  love, 
My  tearful  eye  shall  ever  be 
Fixed  gazingly  alone  on  thee  !  ' 

Friends  of  my  youth  !    who  loved  to  share 
The  sorrows  of  a  falling  tear, 
Back  to  that  sunny  home  ye   've  gone, 
And  left  me  friendless  and  alone  ! 

Alone !    alone  !    not  one  whose  breast 
May  pillow  all  my  care  to  rest  ! 
And,  when  this  bosom  beats  so  high, 
May  calm  it  with  one  kindly  sigh  ! 

Kind  Grandsire  !    on  whose  trembling  knee 
I   've  prattled  oft  an  infant's  glee, 
Whose  glistening  eye  so  often  smiled 
Upon  thy  fondled,  favored  child,  — 

*  Written,  probably,  at  sixteen. 


HOME  OF  MY  CHILDHOOD. 

Thou,  who  would'st  bend  thine  aged  head, 
And  weep  above  my  feverish  bed, — 
Thou,  in  whose  kind  and  throbbing  heart 
I  held  the  fondest  —  dearest  part,  — 

Oh  !    if  to  happy  souls   't  is  given, 
To  wander  from  the  joys  of  Heaven, 
Then  bring  a  blessing  with  thee  now, 
And  lay  it  on  this  beating  brow ! 

That  sunny  beach!  —  that  sloping  shore! 
Where  I  have  seen  the  ocean  pour 
Its  legioned  billows,  to  uptear 
The  bounds  its  Maker  planted  there  J 

Ye  winds !    whose  wings  so  soon  will  reach 
The  quiet  of  that  moaning  beach  ! 
Tell  it,  —  the  boy  remembers  yet, 
He  never  —  never  can  forget. 

Home  of  my  childhood  !    could  I  stand 
Once  more  upon  thy   sea-washed  strand, 
Nor  wealth,  nor  fame,  nor  joy,  nor  pain, 
Should  tear  me  from  that  spot  again. 

Far  o'er  the  billows,  far  away, 
To  thee  my  heart's  best  wishes  stray!  — 
I  loved  thee  much,  —  I  loved  too  well  ; 
Farewell  to  thee  !   farewell  !    farewell ! 


YOUTHFUL  ATTACHMENTS.* 

IN  the  bright  sunshine  of  our  happiness, 
When  all   above,  around,  beneath,  is  bliss, 
When  innocence   and  loveliness  combine 
To  please  the  heart  round  which  they  fondly  twine, 
'Mid  those  glad   hours  there  smiles  one  fairy  spot, 
Man  in  his  day-dreams  never  yet  forgot, 
Round  which,   on  fancy's  wing  he  lingers  still, 
To  soothe  the  thoughts  of  past  and  present  ill  : 
And  as  at  last  he  slowly  from  them  turns,  — 
Like  widowed  dove,  whose  breast  instinctive  burns 
For  those  she  loves,  —  his  grief-torn  heart  still  strays 
O'er  the  bright  visions  of  those  happy  days, 
Which,  like  fair  jewels  in  some  wilderness, 
Shine   'mong  the  mouldering  ruins  of  his  peace. 
Then  hear  the  simple  tale  of  youth  again, — 
'T  will  while  away  a  moment  not  in  vain,  — 
'T  will  bring  to  mind  the  happy  past  once  more, 
And  help  to  live  departed  pleasures  o'er. 

Does  the  lone  mariner,   at  midnight  hour, 
When  heaving  billows  brave  the  seaman's  power, 
Think  oft  with  sadness  of  his  smiling  home, 
And  vow  in  silence  never  thence  to  roam, 


*  Written  at  fifteen,  and  delivered  at  an  exhibition  of  the  6.  B.  $.,  a  lit 
erary  society  in  Washington  College,  December  18th;  1828. 


YOUTHFUL  ATTACHMENTS.  9 

If  once  restored  ?  —  So  would  we  muse  on  joys 
We  once  possessed,  and  mourn  with  you  their  loss. 
In  youth,  —  when  first  we  smile  on  nature's  sweets, 
And  beauteousness  our  roving  fancy  greets, 
When  all  we  see  is  gemmed  with  fairy  light, 
And  all  conspires  to  enchant  our  ravished  sight,  — 
'T  is  still  our  sweetest  transport  to  impart 
These  young  emotions  to  some  friendly  heart. 
But  can  we  seek  a  friend,  when  youth  has  flown, 
While  with  it  pleasure  and  her  train  have  gone  ? 
No,  —  when  we  raised  our  wondering  eyes  on  high, 
And  gazed  upon  the   orbs  in  yonder  sky, 
Eternal  lamps  that  shine  without  decay, 
To  light  each  heaven-born  seraph  on  his  way, 
We  fondly  thought,  that  like  us  there  were  those, 
Whose  bosoms  heaved  'mid  nature's  sweet  repose, 
Gladdened  by  all  below,  that  meets  the  eye 
Of  earth's  poor  traveller,   as  he  wanders  by. 
'T  is  now,  our  feelings   and  our  hopes  are  warm, 
We  tread  the  paths  of  youth  without  alarm, 
And  though  the  adder  'neath  some  rosy  bovver 
Waits  but  to  dart  his  sting  in  evil  hour. 

Plant  not  the  thorn  amid  our  present  bliss, 
Give  us,  though  vain,  the  dreams  of  promised  peace. 
Yet,  as  through  life's  dark  path  you   lonely  stray, 
With  caution  pluck  the  flowers  along  your  way  : 
All   have  been  blithe   and  innocent  and  young, 
And  on  the  breast  of  friendship  all  have  hung. 
We  thought   't  was  sweet  to  listen  to  the   tone 
Of  one,  whose  joys  and  griefs  were  all  our  own : 


10  YOUTHFUL  ATTACHMENTS. 

Those  hours  bloomed  fair  with  raptures  ever  new, 

And  still  how  fair  to  retrospection's  view  ! 

Where  is  the  joyless  soul  that  cannot  glow 

With  flame  which  towers  above   all  else  below. 

When  Friendship  offers  all  that  she  can  give, 

And  bids  desponding  hearts  revive   and  live  ? 

Who,  that  a  cold  unfeeling  form  would  be, 

Without  the  heart's  responding  minstrelsy, 

A  stranger  to  that  soul-exalting  love, 

Which  seraphs  taste  in  yonder  courts  above  ? 

I  would  not  barter  feelings  such  as  these, 

For  each  bright  gem  beneath  the  stormy  seas  ! 

Oh  !    't  is  a  Paradise  to  live  below, 

When  ecstasies  like  these  from  pure  hearts  flow  ! 

I  knew  a  friend  who  shared  my  every  thought, 
To  him  I  oped  my  faithful  breast   unsought, 
With  him  I  roved  where  fancy  led  the  way, 
As  from  life's  weary  path  we   roamed  away  : 
No  deep  deceit  beneath  a  smiling  face 
E'er  lured  the  prey  to  ruin  and  disgrace  ; 
But  all  was  openness,  —  each  moving  look 
The  freedom  of  his  noble  heart  bespoke  ; 
My   cares,  —  since   cares  there    are    for   thoughtless 

youth,  — 

I  laid  before  his  eye  with  guileless  truth. 
Yes  !    I  have  heard  men  tell  of  faithless  friends, 
Whose   love,  like  flowerets   'neath   the    rude    storm, 

bends ; 

He  was  my  refuge  from  the  storms  of  life,  — 
A  shelter  from  its  bitter  cares  and  strife. 


YOUTHFUL  ATTACHMENTS.  11 

But  youthful  raptures  soon  decay, 

Each  gem  of  brightness  fades  away  : 
The  groves,  —  where  we   so  oft  did  roam, 

And  rise  on  fancy's  wing  to  Heaven, 
And,  while  we  viewed  that   Sabbath  home, 

Would  clasp  the  hopes  to  mortals  given, 

Those  haunts  must  die  ;    the  whispering  brook, 

Whose  moss-decked  banks  we  sported  near, 
On  whose  calm  surface  we  would  look, 

Dreaming  our  joys  were  mirrored  there,— 
The  wild  rose,  too,  —  whose  dew-washed  flowers 

Smile  like  a  sleeping  cherub-boy, 

Must  fade  away,  like  twilight   hours, 

Ephemeral  as  each  infant   toy. 

I  've  seen  the   stag  in  his  sportive  mood, 
Tramping  along  through   the   darkened  wood, 
Pausing,  —  then,  wild  as  the  breath  of  morn, 
He  flies   at   sound  of  "  the  huntsman's  horn." 

Each  streamlet  he  passed,  he  knew  full  well, 

For  at  noon-day  hour  he   there  did  dwell  ; 
Each  hillock   and   dell,  that  met  his   eye, 
Told  where  he   gambolled   in  days  gone   by  ; 
His  comrades   fell   in  the   bloody  chase, 
And  left  him  lone,  —  the  last  of  his  race  : 
But  the   quick  step  of  the  ruthless  hound 
Proclaimed  his  foe  near.     One  desperate  bound  ! 
One   struggling  leap  !    and  he   stands  to  die, 
While   big  tears  roll  from  his  dark,  bright  eye  ! 
The   struggle's  short,  — the  contest   is  o'er, 
The  lord  of  the  woods  remains  no  more. 


«  YOUTHFUL  ATTACHMENTS. 

So  we,  when  drooping  age  shall  come, 
And  point  us  to  the  welcome  tomb, 
Shall  pause,  as  memory's  fading  rays 
Illume  the  scenes  of  former  days, 
And  trace  each  line  of  beauty  there, 
In  distance  shrouded  soft  and  fair. 
Within  these   circling  wreaths  of  green, 
Which  sweetly  hang  in  nature's  sheen, 
Where  beauty's  lily  hands  entwine 
A  dearer  wreath  than  laurelled  vine, 
Full  many  a  heart  is  beating  high, 
To  meet  the  look  of  some  bright  eye, 
Whose  thrilling  look  defies   control,  — 
Fair  Friendship's  very  life  and  soul. 
These  scenes  the  heart   can  ne'er  forget, 
No  !    treasured  in  its  chambers  yet, 
They  '11  live,  when  youth  and  manhood's  day 
Have  sunk  in  weary  age  away  ! 

As  traveller,  wandering  in  some  foreign  clime, 
'Mid  crumbling  piles  that  mark  the  track  of  time, 
Or  gazing  on  some  ruined  edifice, 
Which  basked  in  olden  time   in  smiles  of  peace, 
Views  but   its  grandeur,  —  all  its  beauty  gone,  — 
And  stands   o'erawed  before  the  sculptured  stone, 
The  memory  of  departed  joys  still  lives, 
Mellowed  by  thoughts  which  retrospection  gives  ; 
Its  brighter  hues  have   faded  long  away, 
But  left  the   softer  tinge  of  youthful  day. 
Yet  there  are  joys  awaiting  us  above, 
The  happy  fruits  of  that  devoted  love, 


A  PARAPHRASE.  13 

Which  bloomed  awhile  below!    There  Friendship  lives, 
Blest  with  each  balmy  breath  that  Heaven  gives, 
A  goodly  plant,  that  droops  in  mortal  climes, 
To  bloom  the  fairer  yet  in  happier  times  ! 


A  PARAPHRASE  OF  HABAKKUK  m.  17,  18.  * 

ALTHOUGH  the  fig-tree  shall  not  bloom, 
Nor  give  to  Heaven  its  sweet  perfume  ; 
Although  the  vine  no  fruit  shall  bear, 
Nor  purple  grape  hang  clustering  there  ; 
Although  the  tender  flock  must  go, 
And  grazing  herds  all  perish  too  ; 
Yet  I  will  glory  in  the  LORD, 
Who  does  these  kindly  gifts  afford, 
And  humbly  kiss  thy  chastening  rod, 
My  gracious  Master  and  my  GOD  ! 

*  Written,  probably,  at  sixteen. 


14 
MAN  WAS  NOT  MADE  TO  MOURN. 

"  Man  was  made  to  mourn."  — H.  K,  WHITE. 

OH  !  tell  me  why  man  's  made  to  mourn, 
As  on  the  stream  of  life  he  3s  borne  ; 
Why  years  unnumbered  still  pass  on, 
Leaving  no  wreck  of  what  has  gone  ! 

The  flower  may  fade,  —  its  leaves  may  fall. 

Reviving  Nature  quickens  all ; 

But  "  man  was  made  to  mourn !  " 

Should  trembling  kings  bow  to  his  will, 

Or  India's  wealth  his  coffers  fill, 

Death's  cruel  hand  the  gift  will  grasp, 

Him  earth  will  to  her  bosom  clasp  ; 

The  poor,  the  rich,  there  soon  must  lie, 
Where  ne'er  is  heard  or  groan  or  sigh, 
For  "man  was  made  to  mourn." 

Affection's  tjes  his  soul  may  bind, 

Love's  dearest  hopes  his  heart  may  find, 

Nothing  is  certain,  nothing  sure, 

Nothing  can  here  be  called  secure  ; 

The  withered  cheek,  the  sunken  eye, 
Remind  us  that  we  all  must  die, 
Since  "  man  was  made  to  mourn  !  " 

When,  in  some  distant  barbarous  land, 
Beyond  the  reach  of  Christian  hand, 

*  Written  at  fourteen. 


MAN  WAS  NOT  MADE  TO  MOURN.        15 

He  soars  on  fancy's  airy  wing, 

Above  the  power  of  bolt  or  ring, 
Reality  soon  heaves  in  sight, 
Its  ghastly  horrors  come  to  light  ; 
Sure  "  man  was  made  to  mourn  !  " 

But  there  's  a  strait  and  narrow  way, 
That  leads  to  Heaven's  eternal  day  ! 
Then  floods  may  beat,  the  earth  may  quake, 
Creation  to  its  centre  shake  ; 

Still  we  've  a  hope  that 's  always  proved 

Eternal,  lasting,  and  unmoved  ! 

Is  man,  then,  "made  to  mourn  "  ? 


16 


THOUGHTS  BY  THE  HUDSON.* 

PROUD  Hudson!  on  thy  deep, thy  shadowed  stream, 
Ten  thousand  beauties  in  their  stillness  lie, 
Ten  thousand  glories  on  thy  waters  gleam, 
Ten  thousand  scenes  encircle  thee,  that  vie 
With  aught  that  earth  can  boast  ;  —  and  it  is  thy 
Prerogative,  and  thine  alone,  to  lave 
The  goodliest  land  beneath  this  western  sky,  — 
To  send  in  grandeur  on  thy  proudly  crested  wave. 
Bearing  the  wealth  and  power  of  those  whom  earth 
calls  brave  ! 

Fair  Hudson  !   't  is  for  this  we  love  thy  name, 
'T  is  this  that  makes  thy  children  love  thee  more  ! 
Till  now,  thou  still  hast  been  the  unchanging  same  ! 
Those  woods  of  green,  that  gently  sloping  shore, 
The  mists,  that  climb  thy  mountain  banks,  and  soar 
To  heaven  that  gave  them,  the  light  barks  that  go 
On  with  their  errands,  —  where,  in  time  before, 
Untrodden  cliffs  and  forests  listened  to  the  flow 
Of  rippling  waters  from  their  rocky  beds  below  ! 

These  are  the  same,  —  and  these  are  all  thine  own, 
The  beauteous  same  they  were  in  days  gone  by  ! 
Thy  cliff-built  banks  are  changed,  —  but  thou  alone 
Bearest  no  change  upon  thy  joyous  face  ! 
But  thou  art  young, —  and  fancy's  eye  can  trace 

*  Written  near  West  Point,  probably  at  the  age  of  sixteen. 


THOUGHTS  BY  THE  HUDSON.  17 

The  lines  of  youth  upon  thy  smiling  brow  ! 

Ay  !  young  to  us,  —  though  Nature's  simplest  race 
Would  wildly  gaze  upon  thee,  and  in  silence  bow 
To  HIM,  who  made  thee  such,  "  as  we  do  now  !  " 

Oh  !  I  have  seen  men  look  on  thee, —  then  turn, 

And  coldly  say,  "  It  is  a  lovely  scene  "  ! 

And  I  have  felt  my  youthful  bosom  burn, 

To  think  that  there  were  those  so  cold,  so  mean, 

That   when    they    viewed   thee,    robed    in   all   thy 

sheen, — 

A  living  thing  of  youth  and  love  and  light, — 
In  all  thy  brilliancy  and  beauty  seen,  — 

They  would  not  kneel  them  down,  and  make  the  rocky 
height 

Whereon  they  stood,  a  shrine  to  worship  GOD  aright  ! 

There  's  moonlight  on  thy  waters  once  again  :  — 
And  rippling  waves,  that  wash  the  pebbly  shore, 
Driven  by  the  angered  tempest  from  the  main, 
Are  borne  where  ocean's  voice  is  heard  no  more  ; 
And  each  comes  whispering  to  the  beach,  to  pour 
Its  little  tale  of  gladsomeness  and  glee 
Along  the  rocks,  that  reared  their  crags  before 
The  fairest  things  of  Nature's  works  began  to  be, — 
That  smiled  upon  Creation's  earliest  infancy  ! 

The  Alpine  height,  that  lifts  its  cliff  above, 
And  seeks  proud  commune  with  the  things  on  high, 
W^here  half-fledged  eaglets  round  its  summit  rove, 
And  swift-winged  lightnings  on  their  errands  fly, 


18  THOUGHTS  BY  THE  HUDSON. 

Bears  the  wild  impress  of  sublimity; 
But,  when  that  man  has  fixed  his  dwelling  there, 
And  rears  his  harvests  'neath  a  favoring  sky, 
Beauty  sits  throned  amid  those  scenes  so  passing  fair, 
Where  the  wild    peaks    before    in   nature's  stillness 
were  ! 

So  with  these  mimic  waves.     Once  they  have  been 
Amid  the  tumult  of  an  angry  deep, 
Where  the  fierce  tempest-spirit  might  be  seen, 
Piling  the  waters  in  a  billowy  heap, 
Proud  contest  from  their  foaming  heights  to  keep 
With  rocks  that  dared  to  brave  him  in  his  might  : 
But  now  in  cherub  loveliness  they  sleep, 
Doubling  the  glories  of  the  glorious  things  of  night, 
Making  the  stars  that  twinkle  o'er  them  seem  more 
bright  ! 

There  's  music  on  thy  waters  :  —  oh  !  how  sweet  ! 
The  sound  has  passed.     But  then  its  melody 
Is  stealing  o'er  thy  noiseless  waters  yet, 
With  its  unearthly  richness  floating  by  ! 
Oh  !  I  could  soon  hush  up  each  heaving  sigh, 
Forget  for  ever  sorrowing  and  woe, 
And,  swan-like,  'mid  such  music  gladly  die  ! 
Wrould  it  but  come  once  more  !    alas  !    'tis  ever  so; 
The  loveliest  things  on  earth  will  always  soonest  go  ! 

I  dreamed  of  Heaven  in  happy  dreams  ;  I  woke 
To  the  deep  thunders  of  the  evening  gun, 
Which  forth  from  silence  in  its  grandeur  spoke, 
To  bid  its  farewell  to  the  setting  sun,  — 


PRAYERS  OF  THE  GOOD.  19 

"  Another  day  of  useful  greatness  gone  ! 
Another  day  of  thy  existence  past  !  " 
And  the  deep  echoes  o'er  the  mountains  run, 
To  tell  the  tale  to  listening  silence  ;  and  the  waste 
Of  woods  gives  answer  to  that  sound  to  me  the  last ! 


PRAYERS   OF  THE   GOOD.* 

YE  stars  !  that  blaze  so  bright  on  Nature's  crown, 

Lamps  hung  in  chaos  by  a  hand  divine  ! 
Ye  sentinels,  that  walk  your  stated  rounds, 

Your  mighty  rounds,  on  Nature's  still  confine  ! 
Say  !  are  those  clouds,  so  beauteous  and  so  bright, 

That  float  along  in  mystic  beauty  there, 
The  prayers  of  good  men  wafted  calmly  on, 

To  gain  an  answer  from  the  GOD  of  prayer  ? 


*  Written,  probably,  at  sixteen. 


20 


THE   ORPHAN.* 

MOTHER,  awake  !  the  sun  has  set, 
And  darkness  spreads  along  the  sky ; 

No  silver  star  is  peeping  yet, 

And,  save  the  night  bird's  mournful  cry, 

And  the  winds  whistling  loud  and  shrill, 

I  hear  no  sound  ;   't  is  fearful  still. 

Mother,  awake  !  for  thou  hast  slept 
Long  on  the  cold  earth  by  my  side  ; 

I  slumbered  not,  but  watched  and  wept, 
And  yet  I  knew  not  why  I  cried ; 

'Tis  bleak  and  very  lonesome  here  ; 

I  tremble  sadly,  mother  dear  ! 

Ah  me  !  why  wilt  thou  not  awake, 

When  I  have  called  thee  oft  and  loud  ? 

A  storm  seems  rising,  soon  will  break 
Yon  heavy  and  alarming  cloud  ; 

Here  is  no  shelter  for  my  head, 

Cold  and  exposed  too  is  thy  bed. 

She  hears  me  not  !    how  pale  and  cold 

Art  thou,  my  mother  dear  ! 
The  dead  are  so,  I  have  been  told  ; 

She  breathes  not,  —  and  I  fear 

*  Written  at  the  age  of  twelve  or  thirteen,  —  and  founded  upon  an  inci 
dent  in  the  life  of  a  late  English  monarch. 


THE  ORPHAN. 

My  mother  is  no  more  !   in  lonesome  woe 
Onward  her  orphan  boy  must  go  ! 

Go  !  where  ?    ah  !    GOD  direct  me  now  ! 

Father  of  all  !    my  only  one  ! 
Guide  my  young  footsteps,  teach  me  how 

To  live,  thy  unprotected  son  ! 
Kind  Heaven  !  perchance  my  prayers  of  grief 
Are  heard,  and  thou  dost  bring  relief ! 
***** 
Kind  stranger  !  list  the  orphan's  tale, 

And  do  not  check  soft  pity's  tear  ; 
Though  young,  she  felt  misfortune's  gale  ; 

It  has  blown  bitter  and  severe 
On  her,  who  slumbers  'neath  yon  tree, 
Relieved  from  earthly  misery  ! 

It  is  my  mother  :  —  from  our  home, 
An  humble  cottage,  we  were  driven 

By  cruel  man,  and  forced  to  roam  ; 
No  roof  to  shelter  us  but  heaven, 

Which,  like  my  fate,  in  gloom  is  shrouded, 

And  all  its  beauties  overclouded. 

My  father  fell  in  battle  strife, 

When  I,  an  infant  in  the  arms, 
Felt  not  the  storms  of  chequered  life, 

Knew  nought  of  direful  war's  alarms  ; 
But  that  I  knew  a  mother's  love, 
My  tears  of  anguish  now  will  prove  ! 


THE  ORPHAN. 

Too  young  to  labor,  mother  strove 

To  gain  a  livelihood  for  me, 
And  while  from  place  to  place  we  'd  move, 

I  cheered  her  with  my  childish  glee  ; 
Unto  the  town  our  way  we  sped 
Through  this  dark  forest  ;  hope  has  fled  ! 

Yes  !  hope  has  fled,  for  she,  whose  love 

Urged  her  with  sickness  to  contend, 
No  longer  lives,  and  I  must  rove, 

Without  a  parent,  guide,  or  friend, 
Unless,  kind  stranger  !   thou  wilt  cheer 
The  boy,  whose  mother  slumbers  here. 
***** 
Albert  de  Courcy  was  his  name, 

And  on  the  field  of  Waterloo 
He  fell  ;  it  was  a  field  of  fame, 

But  ah  !  of  desolation  too  ! 
Stranger  !  the  orphan's  prayers  are  thine, 
May  joy  and  peace  around  thee  shine  ! 

Farewell,  my  mother  !  from  above 

Now  smile  upon  thy  orphan  boy  ; 
Befriended,  cherished  now  with  love, 

Again  his  heart  may  throb  with  joy  ! 
Often  thy  grave,  with  tearful  eye 

And  throbbing  heart,  with  flowers  he  '11  strew  ; 
And  think,  like  to  thy  soul  on  high, 

Life's  faded  plant  will  bloom  anew  ! 


23 
A  FRAGMENT,  FROM  A  SATIRICAL  ODE.* 

Si  natura  negat,  facit  indignatio  versum. —  Juv. 

SHAME  !  shame  !   are  these  the  men  who  're  called 

to  stand 

The  first  and  foremost  in  a  happy  land  ? 
Can  learning  find  no  kind  reception  here, 
No  friend  to  aid  her,  and  no  voice  to  cheer  ? 
Are  there  so  few,  who  care  to  plead  her  cause, 
And  give  us  learning  while  they  give  us  laws  ? 
Stay,  injured  goddess  !   yet  one  moment  stay, 
Nor  bear  the  blessings,  which  thou  bring 'st,  away  ! 
Yet,  if  thou  find  no  welcome  on  our  shore, 
Go  5  go,  where  thou  art  loved  and  valued  more  ! 
Poor  soulless  wretch  !  whom  nature  never  meant 
To  grasp  the  greatness  of  a  government  ! 
Go,  see  what  other  lands  have  dared  to  do, 
And,  as  you  wonder,  learn  to  practise  too  ; 
Pause  for  a  moment  in  a  sister  state, 
And  learn,  it  is  her  Harvard  makes  her  great  ; 
Then  go  to  England's  favored  clime,  and  gaze 
On  the  proud  pomp  of  learning's  palaces. 
Her  Cambridge  and  her  Oxford  !  there  they  stand, 
The  proudest  boast  and  glory  of  the  land, 
Arches  on  arches  piled,  that  point  to  heaven, 
The  richest  presents  that  her  kings  have  given,! 

*  Written  at  fifteen  or  sixteen. 

t  The  following  note  is  appended  to  the  poem  in  the  original  manu 
script.  "  King's  College,  Cambridge,  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  University, 
was  founded  by  Henry  the  Sixth,  and  richly  endowed  by  Henry  the  Sev- 


24  A  FRAGMENT,  FROM  A  SATIRICAL  ODE. 

The  brightest,  fairest  gems  that  sparkle  now, 

Among  the  brilliants  of  her  jewelled  brow, 

All  that  a  people's  gratitude  can  give 

Back  for  the  blessings  under  which  they  live, 

The  tribute  of  her  children  far  and  near, 

All  in  its  rich  profusion  gathered  here  ! 

Kind  Genius  of  my  country,  come  !    Oh  come  ! 

And  shed  one  blessing  more  on  this  our  home  ! 

Grant  us  to  feel,  with  still  expanding  mind, 

That  Learning's  foe  can  ne'er  be  Freedom's  friend, 

That,  when  in  after  times  the  hand  of  fame 

Shall    wreath    green    chaplets    round    each   honored 

name, 

Theirs  may  the  brightest  and  most  honored  be, 
Who  were  the  friends  of  learning  and  of  thee  ! 


enth.  Queen's  College  was  founded  by  Margaret  ofAnjou,  the  wife  of 
Henry  the  Sixth.  Christ's  College,  and  also  St.  John's,  were  founded  by 
Margaret,  Countess  of  Richmond  and  Derby,  the  mother  of  Henry  the 
Seventh.  Trinity  College,  possessing  'the  most  considerable  establish 
ment'  in  the  University,  was  founded  by  Edward  the  Third,  but  received 
its  chief  endowments  from  Henry  the  Eighth.  The  endowments  of 
Queen's  College  were  increased  by  Elizabeth  Widville,  the  wife  of  Ed 
ward  the  Fourth.  Oxford  bears  among  its  patrons  the  names  of  Henry 
the  First,  Richard  the  First,  Edward  the  Second,  Henry  the  Eighth,  and 
Charles  the  First.  Christ  Church  College  was  founded  by  the  unhappy 
Cardinal  Wolsey.'-' 


THE  HIGHLAND  FIGHT.* 

"  The  clansmen  on  every  side  stripped  their  plaids,  prepared  their  arms,  and 
there  was  an  awful  pause  of  about  three  minutes,  during  which  the  men  pulling 
off  their  bonnets  raised  their  faces  to  heaven  and  uttered  a  short  prayer,  then 
pulled  their  bonnets  over  their  brows  and  moved  onward  ! 

WAVERLEY. 

SILENT  and  hushed  and  motionless  ! 
A  death-like  pause  of  breathlessness  ! 
Ten  thousand  thoughts,  all  wild  and  deep, 
Which,  in  their  frightful  passage,  sweep 
Across  those  breasts,  that  beat  so  high 
With  throbs  of  proud  expectancy  ! 
But  not  a  whispered  word  to  break 
That  silence  !   kingdoms  were  at  stake  ! 
Kings  to  be  made  or  be  undone, 
And  battles  to  be  lost  or  won  ! 
The  eyes  of  anxious  nations  bent 
Towards  this  angry  tournament  ! 
Long  gathering  wrongs  avenged  not, 
Smothered  till  now,  but  ne'er  forgot  ! 
Anger,  and  hate,  and  hope,  and  fear, 
All,  in  their  might  concentred  here  ! 

To-morrow  !    Oh  that  word  to-morrow  ! 

How  full  of  love  and  hope  and  sorrow  ! 

To-morrow  !    it  may  never  come  ! 

To-morrow  —  may  be  in  the  tomb  ! 
And  there,  in  prayerful  silence  now, 
Uncovered  is  each  beating  brow, 


*  Written  in  October,  1831. 
3 


26  THE  HIGHLAND  FIGHT. 

And  every  lip  is  quivering  there, 
As  it  gives  forth  its  whispered  prayer  ; 
Each  daring  fault,  and  broken  vow, 
And  crimes,  —  all,  all,  remembered  now  ! 
Whole  years  of  crime  of  every  die 
Memory  brings  back  most  painfully  ;  — 
Children,  and  wife,  and  all  who  press 
Around  each  heart  in  tenderness  ; 
Oh  GOD  !  preserve  their  helplessness  ! 
Youth's  brow  of  pride  and  eyes  of  light, 
And  age's  hairs  so  purely  white, 
The  morning  wind  swept  softly  o'er  ; 
It  never  seemed  so  sweet  before  ! 
They  thought  upon  that  far-off  home, 
Whither  their  feet  might  never  come  ; 
One  tear  !  it  was  the  only  one  ! 
Father  in  Heaven  !  thy  will  be  done  ! 

On  !  on  !    for  the  notes  of  our  bugles  are  swelling, 
Their  war-cry  is  forth  upon  mountain  and  wave  ; 

On  !  on  !  where  the  claymores  of  Scotland  are  telling, 
Their  cause  is  the  cause  of  the  loyal  and  brave  ! 

Where   the   swords   of  our  foemen   are   flashing   the 

brightest, 

Where  the  shout  of  the  battle  is  longest  and  loudest, 
There  the  heart  of  the  Highlander  ever  is  lightest, 
And  its  throbs    are   the   freest    and   strongest  and 
proudest  ! 


THE  HIGHLAND  FIGHT.  27 

On  !  on  !   with  the  banners  we  love  waving  o'er  us, 
And  the   friends  of  our  hearts   pressing    round  to 
defend  us  ! 

Disgrace  is  behind  and  glory  before  us  ; 

The  blessings  of  Heaven  and  Scotland  attend  us  ! 

There  's  a  sigh  for  the  names  of  the  dead  ! 
For  the  brave  men  whose  spirits  have  gone  ! 
They  fell  in  the  flush  of  the  fight  that  they  won ; 

There  's  a  sigh  for  the  names  of  the  dead  ! 

There  's  a  tear  o'er  the  graves  of  the  dead  ! 
Where  they  sleep  their  calm  death-sleep  at  last  ; 
Their  memory  is  here,  though  their  footsteps  have 
passed, — 

There  's  a  tear  o'er  the  graves  of  the  dead  ! 


A  MOTHER'S  LOVE.* 

A  MOTHER'S  love  !    a  mother's  love  ! 

That  sound  of  holy  loveliness  ! 
All  know  full  well,  —  but  few  can  tell, 

How  full  of  heaven  and  joy  it  is  ! 

A  mother's  love,  —  when  sickness  comes, 
With  all  its  train  of  feverish  ill, 

To  blight  and  wither  up  the  soul,  — 
Yes  !  even  in  death,  —  is  with  us  still  ! 

Across  life's  dark  and  troublous  water, 
Amid  the  gloom,  there  shines  from  far 

A  bright,  unflickering  blaze  of  light, 
A  mother's  love's  bright  beacon  star  ! 

My  mother  !  on  my  dying  bed 

Thy  hand  shall  smooth  my  weary  pillow, 
And  on  my  cold,  cold  grave,  at  last 

Shall  plant  the  stilly  weeping  willow  ! 

*  Written,  probably,  at  sixteen. 


ORIGIN  OF  THE  NIGHT-BLOOMING  CEREUS. 

LONG  —  long  ago,  —  ere  poets  sung, 
While  heaven  was  bright,  and  earth  was  young, 
When  man  was  pure,  and  angels'  eyes 
Gazed  on  the  sweets  of  Paradise, — 

'Twas  then,  — within  a  jasmine  bower, 

A  seraph  paused  at  evening  hour, 

To  listen,  as  it  swelled  along, 

To  heaven  and  earth's  commingled  song. 

He  knelt  to  worship,  —  but  his  tongue 
Refused  to  breathe  that  seraph  song  ; 
One  sin  had  passed  his  holy  breast, 
And  robbed  it  of  its  wonted  rest. 

He  looked  to  heaven,  —  but  heaven  was  dim,  — 
Its  music  had  no  charms  for  him  ; 
Rich  sounds  through  its  bright  courts  were  stealing, 
His  harp  was  hushed,  —  his  heart  unfeeling. 

He  knelt,  —  and  in  a  burning  prayer, 
Poured  his  whole  soul  in  sorrowing  there  ; 
He  raised  his  tearful  eyes  to  heaven, — 
He  wept,  —  and  prayed,  —  and  was  forgiven. 

And  where  (as  angels'  legends  tell) 
Those  tears  of  deep  repentance  fell, 

3* 


30  A  FRAGMENT. 

Amid  the  perfume  of  that  bower, 

There  sprang  this  nightly  blooming  flower. 

And  still,  on  each  returning  year, 
The  night  he  shed  that   sorrowing  tear, 
It  spreads  its  beauteous  leaves  to  heaven, 
The  emblem  of  a  sin  forgiven. 


A  FRAGMENT. 


The  contest  was  unequal  ; 

For  mightier  minds  rose  up,  and  purer  hearts 
Rose  up,  with  all  the  sympathies  of  men, 
And  with  the  blessing  of  the  GOD  of  truth, 
The  favored  champions  of  Righteousness. 
That  was  a  glorious  day  for  Virtue's  cause, 
That  saw  the  meeting  of  conflicting  minds, 
Host  against  host,  and  banner  against  banner, 
The  triumph  of  the  cause  of  GOP  and  man. 


31 


SWITZERLAND* 

5T  WAS  night ;    for  nature's   self  had  sunk  to  rest, 
And  stillness  hung  o'er  mountain,  lake,  and  plain : 
Man  slumbered,  and  forgot  the  cares  of  life, 
Since   all  around  was  hushed  to  quietness  ; 
And  all  was  silent  as  the  trackless  wild. 
There  came  no  moan  upon  the  passing  breeze, 
The  moon  looked  out  upon  the  stilly  scene, 
And   winds  forgot  to  howl  around  the  cliffs,  — 
Their  olden  haunts,  —  while  sporting  with  her  beams. 
Night's  dewy  showers  fell  fast;  —  and,  where  at  eve 
I  viewed  the  glories  of  a  western  sun, 
Bright  stars  were  twinkling  in  the  azure  sky, 
And  from  their  lofty  thrones  smiled  sweetly  o'er 
The  land  beneath.     No  rampart  height,  or  tower, 
No  massive  fortress,  told  the  tyrant's  home  ; 
Its  only  bulwark  was  the  freeman's  breast, 
To  his  true  steel  and  Heaven  it  left  the  rest. 

I  stood  upon  the  Alps,  —  boast  of  the  Swiss, 
That  reared  their  shapeless  craggy  tops  on  high, 
And  seemed  to  mock  the  pigmy  works  of  man,  — 
One  rocky  mass,  —  one  heaven-aspiring  height, 
That  left  the  feeble  worldling  at  its  base 
To  grovel  on  upon  polluted  earth, 
While  it  sought  converse  with  a  higher  world,  — 

»  Written  at  sixteen,  and  delivered  at  a  Junior  Exhibition,  April  10th, 
1829. 


32  SWITZERLAND. 

Nurse  of  the  storm,  —  the  whirlwind's  desert  home, — 
\Vhere  the  blast  roars  around  the  craggy  steep, 
Where  echoing  caverns  catch  the  thunder's  voice, 
And  crashing  rocks  bespeak  the  lightning's  deed. 

Oh  !    who  could  gaze  on  such  a  scene  as  this, 
Nor  feel  the  throb   of  more  than  mortal  bliss  ? 
Who  would  not  feel  his  mighty  soul  expand, 
And  grasp  Creation  in  its  giant  hand  ? 
Nature's  own  wildness  dwells  in  grandeur  there, 
Where   'mid  such  grandeur  man  forgets  to  fear. 
'T  is  worth  a  life,  to  gaze  on  scene   like  this, 
Where  e'en  Creation  sinks  to  nothingness;  — 
To  leave  mankind  and  all  on  earth  behind, 
And  drink  in  vigor  from  the  mountain  wind, 
Whose  breezes  bear  no  tale   of  grief  or  woe, 
No   sad  lamenting   from  a  world  below. 
This,  —  this  is  joy  ;  —  all  else  on  earth  is  vain, 
All  else,  save  that  from  Heaven,  gives  edge  to  pain. 
There,  —  where  the  wild  flower  in  its  beauty  grows, 
Or  the  bold  mountain  torrent  onward  flows, 
Where  the  wild  chamois  takes  the   daring  leap 
From  rock  to  rock,  from  precipice  to  steep,  — 
There  —  man  forgets  what  he  was  born  to  be, 
And  almost  thinks  himself  a  Deity. 
Go  !    when  the  setting  sun   his  splendor  shows, 
And  a  rich  brilliance  o'er  his  pathway   throws;  — 
Go  !    when  he  sinks  behind  the  Alpine  steep, 
And  gives  his  glory  to  the  western  deep  ;  — 
Go  !    when  the  storm-cloud  o'er  the  rocky  wild 
Hath  left  its  folds  in  fleecy  grandeur  piled ;  — 


SWITZERLAND.  33 

Go  !    where  each  lake  a  burnished  mirror  lies, 

Reflecting  back  the  glories  of  the  skies, 

To  deck  the  robe  of  earth  ;  —  then  ask, 

Can  man  tread  soil  like  this  a  crouching  slave  1 

Or  sleep  in  peace  within  a  menial's  grave  ? 

But  they  were  slaves.     The  Austrian  despot  swayed 
His  demon  sceptre  here, —  and  was  obeyed; 
Each  cot,  once  gladdened  by  the  morning  sun, 
Told   where  the  savage  work  of  death  was  done  ; 
The  wild  bird  screeched  o'er  many  a  scene  of  grief, 
Where  none  were  near  to  bring  the  kind  relief; 
And  many   a  floweret  hung  its  drooping  head 
O'er  the  cold  breast  of  the  unburied  dead  ; 
The  shepherd  boy,  when  sets  the  evening  sun, 
And  twilight  shadows  round  the  skies  are   hung, 
Hushes  his  pipe   amid  its  plaintive  tones, 
To  view  with  saddened  heart  some  mouldering  bones, 
Which,  long  since  preyed  on  by  the  eagle's  young, 
Have  bleached  through  years  in  every  summer  sun. 

Cursed  be  the  arm  that  struck  the  blow, 
Which  laid  the  son  of  freedom  low  ! 
Let  willing  lightnings  sear  the  hand, 
That  strewed  its  terrors   o'er  a  land, 
Where  pleasure  danced  in  every  eye, 
•  And  music  hushed  each  rising  sigh  ! 
But  there  was  one,  who  roved  away, 
As  evening  lisped  farewell  to  day, 
And  where  no  lingering  step  was  nigh, 
Mused  on  his  country  pensively  ; 


34  SWITZERLAND. 

Then  Brutus-like  he  fondly  swore. 

That  she  should  feel   her  wrongs  no  more. 

For  he  had  watched,  with  boding  eye, 

The  vulture  bird  of  tyranny 

Perch  on  his  native  mountain  height, 

And  fold  its  plumes,  and  cease  its  flight  ; 

Then  cursed  the  hour  it  reached  a  shore, 

Where  all  was  happiness  before. 

He  offered  up  no  sacrifice, 
But  raised  to  Heaven  his  tearless  eyes, 
Tearless,  —  since  it  were  woman-like 
To  weep,  where   there  was  need  to  strike. 
Silent,  where  Alpine  grandeur  dwelt, 
Beneath  the  listening  sky  he  knelt, 
And  begged  His  aid,  who  always  smiled 
On  deeds  of  Freedom's  injured  child; 
Then  rising  left  the  hallowed  place, 
Where  conscious  Nature  whispered  peace. 
But  there  were  other  hearts  beside, 
Whose  temper  he  had  often  tried, 
And  found  it  fully  bold  and  free, 
But  not  as  his,  —  so  great  was  he  ! 
By  midnight  they  would  oft  convene, 
By  all,  save  the  Great  One,  unseen, 
And  pledged  their  lives,  their  faith,  their  all, 
Freely  to  live,  —  or  nobly  fall. 
Spirits  so  proud  would  never  wear 
The  chains  that  man  had  fastened  there  ; 
No  !    sooner  let  the  gathering  snow,  — 
Dread  Alpine  messenger  of  woe, — 


SWITZERLAND.  35 

Leave  bleaching  bones  behind  to  tell 
Where  the  brave  Swiss  beneath  it  fell  ! 
The  deed  resolved,  on  should  be   done, 
When  slowly  sank  the   setting  sun, 
Behind  Mont  Blanc's  proud  monarch  height, 
That  stood  spectator  of  the  fight. 

As  the  mighty  dash  of  ocean's  spray, 
As  the  thunders  burst  by  bright  noon-day, 
As  the  eagle's  flight,  when  the  huntsman  's  nigh, 
As  the   lightning's  flash  o'er  the    blackened  sky, 
They  came  :  —  't  was  the    hour  of  dim  twilight, 
When  each  shrouded   orb  withheld  its  light  ; 
Not  that  on   deed   so  daring   't  would  frown, 
Or  souls  so  noble  unkindly  disown, 
But  it  paused   o'er  the  scene,  till  all  was  done, 
The  battle  fought, — the  victory  won. 
"Comrades   and  friends!"  said  their  leader,  (i  fare 
well  ! 

Perchance   't  is  our  last,  yet  welcome,   farewell  : 
Life  is  to  me  as  the   weed  I  would  throw 
On  the   murderer's  grave,  where  lies   he  low ; 
'T  was  given  from  the  land  that  awaits  me  above, 
But  I  give   it  in  turn  to  the  land   I   love  ; 
With  a  patriot  heart,   and  a   daring  hand, 
Strike  !    for  our  own  injured  Switzerland  !  " 

Where  a  couch  was  spread  at  evening  shade, 
Where  a  princely  form  was  proudly  laid, 
Where  the  eye  was  closed  in  thoughtless  sleep, 
That  promised  sweet  visions  and  slumbers  deep, 


36  SWITZERLAND. 

A  ghastly  corpse  in  its  stead  was  left, — 

Of  beauty,  and  greatness,  and  glory   bereft : 

For  the  battle  had  come; — in  the  silence  of  night 

The  tyrant  had  fallen  ;    he  fell  in  his  might. 

Then  rose  the  shout  of  the  warrior  free, 

Tasting  the  first  fruits   of  Liberty  ; 

Each  voice  rang  loud,  each  bosom  beat  high, 

As  they  gazed   on  the   dead  triumphantly. 

Far  in  the  distance  did  bright   lights  shine, 

O'er  the  peaceful  flow  of  the  sleeping  Rhine  ; 

The  glad  waters  heaved  when  the  tale  was  told, 

As  on,  in  their  grandeur,  they  proudly  rolled ; 

And  a  nation's  praise  swept  sweetly  by, 

And  mingled  soft  tones  with  the  warrior's  cry. 

There  stands  no  graven  funeral  stone, 

To  mark  the   low  spot  where  they  laid  him  ; 

In  the  cypress'   shade  he  yet  sleeps  on, 

In  the  shroud  that  his  greatness  made  him. 

The   ivy  grows  o'er  the   peaceful  spot, 

And  wreaths  its  wild  chaplets  above  him  ; 

Where  pilgrims  repair,  who  knew  him  not, 
To  weep  with  his  people  that  love  him. 

The  Swiss  minstrel  sweeps  the  harp's  wild  note, 
'T  is  a  chieftain's   sad  evening  knell ; 

And  angel-like  sounds  o'er  the  waters  float, 
From  the  grave  of  their  own  William  Tell. 


37 


TO  J.  G.* 

THERE  's  a  rain-drop,  that  rests  on  the  rose-leaf  at  even, 
And  bends  it  in  beauty  to  silence  and  rest, 

And  a  sunbeam  of  crimson  has  gilded  that  rain-drop 
With  the  last  ray  of  glory  that  comes  from  the  west. 

There  's  a  bird  in  the  east,  that  has  stolen  from  Heaven 
Its  name  and  its  plumage,  so  beauteous  and  bright 

That  it  seems,  as  it  floats  on  its  silvery  wing, 
A  messenger  bird  from  the  "  islands  of  light." 

There  's  a  ripple,  that  comes  to  the  listening  beach, 
To  whisper  its  story  with  tremulous  motion, 

When  the  chime  of  the  vespers  steals  soft  o'er  the  wave, 
And  moonlight  is  sleeping  in  peace  on  the  ocean. 

But  sweeter  and  brighter  than  all  is  the  smile, 
That  plays  on  the  lip  of  her  whom  we  love, 

For  the  visions  it  brings,  like  our  dreamings  of  Heaven, 
Have  won  all  their  tints  from  the  regions  above. 

There  3s  many  a  moment  of  anguish  and  sorrow, 
And  tears  that,  alas  !  we  may  never  forget ; 

But,  'mid  the  sighs  of  to-day  and  the  tears  of  to-morrow, 
That  smile,  —  oh  that  smile  !  —  it  will  go  with  us  yet. 

*  Written,  probably,  at   seventeen. 

4 


38 


BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST.* 

SAD,  sad  was  the  breathing  of  holiest  fire, 

That  swept  its  low  moan  o'er   the    prophet's  waked 

lyre  ; 

And  mournful  the  echoes  that  floated  along, 
The  dirge  of  the  dead, — the  wild  requiem  of  song. 

Oh  Babylon  !   Babylon  !    woe   be  to  thee, 
The  pride  of  the  earth  and  the  queen  of  the  sea  ! 
For  the  sin  of  thy  people  the  word  has  been  given, 
The  lament  of  the  prophet,  —  the  mandate  of  Heaven! 

And  ages  on  ages  returnless  have  flown, 

Since  the  doom  of  thy  pride   and  thy   splendor  was 

known  ; 

But  he  who  hath  gazed  on  thy  ruins  can  tell, 
That  the  words  of  the  prophet  are  answered  too  well ! 


Green,  green  o'er  thy  towers  the  wild  ivy  is  creeping, 
And  silent  beside  thee  the  waters  are  sleeping, 
Save  when  touched  by  the  wing  of  the  bat  in  his  flight, 
Gone  forth  on  his  errand  of  silence  by  night  ! 

Cold,  cold  o'er  thy  ruins  the  night  wind's  low  moan  ! 
'T  is  the  sigh  o'er  the  days  of  thy  pride  that  have  gone, 

*  Spoken  at  Commencement,  August  5th,  1830.     See  the  fifth  chapter 
of  Daniel,  for  the  basis  of  this  poem. 


BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST.  39 

The  voice  of  the  dead,  —  where  the  living  are  still,  — 
Borne  forth  from  their  charnel,  all  voiceless  and  chill ! 

Peace,  peace,  to  the  dust  of  the  brave  where  they 

sleep  ! 

Their  slumbers  be  peaceful,  —  their  quiet  be  deep  ! 
Let  spring  bring  her  chaplets  and  flowerets  most  fair, 
And  strew  them,  and  weave  them  in  loveliness  there  ! 

In  Babel   't  is  a  festal  night  :  — 
On  Babel's  towers  the  lamps  are  bright  ; 
There,  in  their  brilliancy  they  shine, 
Like  gems  upon  an  ebon  shrine, 
And  meteor-like  are  glaring  high, 
To  light  the  darkness  of  the  sky, 
Heaven's  darkest,  deepest,  blackest  gloom, 
Still  as  Creation's  voiceless  tomb. 
Not  even  a  lisping  breath  of  air 
Wakes  from  its  infant  slumbers  there  ! 
A  noiseless,  starless,  breathless  sky, 
Hushed  into  deep  expectancy  ! 
But  still  on  earth  there  is  a  cry 
Of  wakeful  mirth  and  revelry  ; 
For  Babel  keeps  her  festal  night, 
And  all  her  lamps  of  holy  light 
Are  flashing,  in  one  ceaseless  gleam, 
Across  Euphrates'  waveless  stream. 

Flash  on  !    ye  holy  fires,  flash  on  ! 
Your  brilliant  life  is  nearly  gone  ; 
There  is  a  meaning  in  the  sky, 
Dark  prelude  of  your  destiny! 


40  BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST. 

Home  of  the  lightning  and  the  storm  ! 

Strange   semblance  of  JEHOVAH'S  form  ! 

There  is  a  meaning  in  the  shape 

Your  shadowy  forms  will  sometimes  take  ; 

As  't  were  the  marks  which  feelings  trace, 

In  hurried  outline  on  the  face 

Of  the  still  future  ;  —  all  that  's  given, 

To  show  frail  man  the  will  of  Heaven. 

The  moon-lit  cloud,  so  bright,  so  fair, 

Gives  hopes  of  joy  and  gladness  near  ; 

The  scattered  mist,  that  hurries  by 

In  fitful  passage  o'er  the  sky, 

Foretells  the  tears  that  pass  away, 

Remembered  but  with  yesterday  ; 

But  the  dark  sky  of  angry  frown, 

That  hangs  in  blackening  stillness  down, 

Tells  of  the  deepest,  saddest  woe, 

That  mortal  man  may  taste  or  know. 

And  Babel's  King  was  on  his  throne, 
And  Babel's  princes  round  him  shone, 
And  Babel's  youth  and  beauty  —  all 
Are  gathered  in  that  glittering  hall  : 
Young  hope  and  love  are  beaming  now 
From  every  fair  and  noble  brow, 
Where  pomp  and  pageant  move  along 
To  the  rich  melody  of  song  ; 
The  clanging  horn,  the  melting  flute, 
And  sweetly  pensive,  plaintive  lute, 
Wake  the  hushed  echoes  of  that  pile, 
And  swell  along  each  vaulted  aisle, 


BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST.  41 

Then,  touching  on  some  softer  strain, 

Sink  to  their  holy  rest  again. 

Circassia's  lovely  ones  are  there, 

And  Arab  maid  of  raven  hair, 

That  floats,  in  playful  tresses,  down 

A  neck  of  loveliest,  richest  brown, 

With  laughing  eyes,  that  brightly  flash, 

Beneath  the  long  and  dark  eye-lash. 

Like  India's  pearls  in  ocean  cave, 

That  sparkle  through  the  sleeping  wave  ;  — 

All,  that  is  beautiful  and  fair, 

Is  gathered  in  full  splendor  there. 

"Bring  forth,"  that  monarch  said,  "bring  forth 
Those  golden  cups  of  sacred  worth, 
Which  my  own  father's  victor  hand 
Bore  from  Judea's  captive  land. 
Yes  !    even  from  that  hallowed  place, 
The  holiest  shrine  of  holiness, 
Where  all  their  boasted  glories  dwelt, 
And  Judah's  bigot  prophet  knelt, 
He,  with  his  arm  these  trophies  won, 
To  swell  the  pomp  of  Babylon. 
But  Belus's  shrine  shall  share  the  spoil, 
He  gathered  there   'mid  blood  and  toil, 
And  Chaldee's  king,  —  his  monarch  son, — 
Boast  the  proud  name  his  father  won." 

He  spoke  :    and  bright,  before  his  throne, 
Those  cups  of  sacred  usage  shone  ; 


42  BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST. 

And  Babel's  lords  and  princes  all, 
Who  graced  that  nightly  festival, 
Filled  up  those  golden  goblets   high, 
And  drank,  in  their  idolatry, 
'Mid  boast  of  war  and  shout  of  sin, 
To  Babel's  god,  and  Babel's  king. 

Say  !    is  there  poison  in  that  cup, 
That  all  the  joy  is  withered  up, 
Which,  in  its  laughing  echoes,  burst 
From  every  lightsome  tongue  at  first  ? 
Has  all  that  sparkling  gladness  gone, 
And  left  you  joyless  and  alone  ? 
The  quivering  lip,  —  the  lifeless  eye, 
Gazing  in  ghastly  vacancy,  — 
The  livid  cheek,  —  the  gathered  brow,  — 
All,  all,  are  cold  and  voiceless  now. 
Jehovah's  presence  hath  been  here  ! 
And  left  his  awful  signet  there. 
Read  —  read  it  there,  poor  mortal  man,  — 
Read  if  thou  dare,  read  if  thou  can  ! 
Assyria's  honors  crown  the  man, 
Who  well  those  mystic  words  shall  scan, 
And  all  the  pride,  that  monarchs  wed, 
Be  settled  on  his  princely  head ! 

Gaze  on  !    gaze  on  !    one  withering  look, 
Like  that  the   great  Archangel  took, 
When  on  the   angry  bounds  he  stood, 
That  beetled  o'er  the  fiery  flood. 
And  paused,  —  accursed  there  of  Heaven, 
All  unrepentant,  unforgiven  ! 


BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST.  43 

And  every  eye  is  fixed  intent, 
On  Judah's  holy  prophet  bent  ; 
His  cheek  is  pale,  and  o'er  his  brow 
A  holy  calm  is  stealing  now  ; 
His  aged  hands,  together  pressed, 
Are  folded  gently  on  his  breast  ; 
And,  pure  as  streams  that  angels  sip, 
A  prayer  is  quivering  on   his  lip  ; 
His  robe   as  spotless,   as  the  prayer 
In  holy  accents  rising  there. 
That  kingly  crowd  !    he  heeds  them  not ;  — 
They  are  alike  unseen,  forgot  ; 
He  seems,  within  the  bounds  of  Heaven, 
To  pray  that  they  may  be  forgiven. 
The  struggle  's  past  ;    't  is  all  in  vain, 
He  may  not  ask  that  boon   again. 

The  lamps  are  flickering  pale  and  wan, 
Where  life  and  joy  alike  have  flown, 
And  that  wide  hall  is  hushed  to  peace, 
A  frightful  hush  of  breathlessness. 
"  Thy  doom  is  fixed  !    thy  course  is  run  ! 
Thy  kingly  honors  all  are  won  ! 
To-morrow's  sun  shall  never  rise, 
To  shed  its  splendor  on  thine  eyes  ; 
But,  ere  the  midnight  hour  has  fled, 
Thou  shalt  be  numbered  with  the  dead  ! 
Read  on  that  burning  wall,  and  see 
Those  characters  of  mystery,  — 
Read,  —  ay,  and  learn,  when  't  is  too  late, 
Jehovah's  will, — Belshazzar's  fate! 


44  BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST. 

Thou  !    who,  in  an  unguarded  hour, 
Didst  brave  thy  Maker's  matchless   power, 
His  holy  vessels  didst  profane, 
Blaspheme  his  temple   and  his  name, 
Thou  !    who   didst  dare  Jehovah's  might, 
Go,  —  grapple  with  him  now,  to-night  !  — 
Thou  art  weighed  in  the  balances, 
And   wanting  found  in  righteousness  ; 
The  sceptre  from  thy  hands  is  passed, 
Of  Chaldee's  monarchs,  thou  the  last ! 
The  Mede   and  Persian  share  thy  throne,  — 
The  ancient  honors  of  thy   crown  ; 
And  even  now  their  legions  come, 
To  bear  thee  to  thy  long,  long  home  ! 
Farewell !  —  a  sad  farewell  for  thee  ! 
A  parting  for  —  Eternity!  " 

But  hark !    whence  comes  that  echoing  shout, 
That  daring,  deadly,  fiendish  cry, 
The  death-knell  to  our  cherished   hopes, 
The  long,  loud  shout  of  victory  ? 
Ten  thousand  mighty  legions  rush,  — 
Like  ocean's  fountains,  as  they  gush, 
In  billowy  deluge,  o'er  the   earth, 
To  drown  its  gladsome  peals  of  mirth,  — 
And  many  nations  come  from  far, 
To  swell  the   angry  tide  of  war  ; 
Ten  thousand  Persians  throng  the  wall, 
Ten  thousand  tongues  for  mercy  call, 
Ten  thousand  brave   men,  in  their  wrath, 
Have  strewed  their  conqueror's  bloody  path. 


BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST.  45 

"  Arm  !    on  this  sacred  spot  we  '11  stand, 
And  battle  with  them  hand  to  hand  ; 
Beneath  these   age-worn  towers  we  '11  close 
With  Babylon's  accursed  foes  : 
Full  well  I  know,  to-morrow's  sun 
Shall  see  my  life   and  glories  won  : 
So  let  it  be  ;    but  this  proud  crown, 
The  mighty  dead  have  handed  down, 
Was  given  untouched,  undimmed  to  me, 
And   still  untouched,  undimmed  shall  be. 
'Belshazzar's  Feast'  our  battle  cry, 
We  fight,  —  we  conquer,  —  but  to  die  ; 
A  daring,  hopeless,  friendless  few, 
To  king  and  country  ever  true  !  " 

They  fought  before  that  palace  gate, 
In  the  dread  certainty  of  fate  ; 
No  hope  of  conquest  hovered  o'er 
Those  banners,   steeped  in  Persian  gore  ; 
But  frantic  rage  and  wild  despair 
Are  gathered  in  one   conflict  there. 
Behind  them  is  the  olden  shrine, 
Those  turbaned  warriors  deem  divine  ; 
Before  them  is  their  monarch  king, 
The  conqueror  of  the  conquering  ; 
Above  them  is  the  angry  Heaven  ; 
Beneath,  the  slaves  their  wrath  has  riven  ; 
And  "Onward!    onward!"   is  the   cry, 
Of  those  who  fight,  and  those  who  die  ; 
But  countless  legions  onward  throng, 
'Mid  the  red  flush  of  war  along, 


46  BELSHAZZAR'S  FEAST, 

And  those  brave  men  sink,  one  by  one, 
Where  all  their  mightiest  deeds  were  done. 

Within  that   shrine   so  redly  wet, 
One  noble  arm  is  struggling  yet. 
Beside  that  altar  pile  he   stands, 
And   battles  with  the  hireling  bands, 
The  minion  hosts  that  round  him  press, 
In  all  their  bloody  eagerness,  — 
A  noble  stag,  at  well-fought  bay,  — 
A  tiger,  plundered  of  his  prey,  — 
He  piles  their  mangled  bodies  high, 
An  offering  to  his  Deity. 
He  fought  beside  that  altar  well, 
And,  fighting   nobly,  nobly  fell. 

Hark  !    to  the  thousand  shouts  that  swell 
Belshazzar's  warlike  funeral  knell  ! 
As,  from  the   shrine  her  foes  have  won, 
Bursts  the  last  shout  of  Babylon ! 


47 


SKETCHES   OF    MUSIC.* 

SKETCH    I. 

"Here  will  we  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears.     Soft  stillness  and  the  night 
Become  the  touches  of  sweet  harmony." 

MERCHANT  OF  VENICE. 

WHERE  the  proud  Alps  lift  up  their  cliffs  to  heaven, 
Where  the  wild  Rhone  is  dashing  on  his  waves, 
A  peaceful  spot  shut  out  from  all  the  world 
By  mountains,  —  on  whose  bold  and  craggy  heights 
Storm  spirits  held  their  loudest  revelry, 
While  at  their  feet  moonbeams  were  sleeping  on,  — 
It  was  a  wild,  but  't  was  a  peaceful  spot  ; 
It  was  his  home  :    and  yet  it  had  been  long 
Since  he  had  gazed  upon  its  loveliness  ; 
War  's  angry  trumpet  summoned  him  away, 
To  fight  his  country's  battles  ;  he  had  seen 
Cities  and  men  of  different  name  and  clime, 
Had  braved  the  angry  storms  of  northern  lands, 
And  viewed  the  splendor  of  a  Persian  sunset, 
Had  known  earth's  pleasures  and  its  honors  too, 
But  yet  —  they  were  not  home  !  —  Fourscore  summers 
Had  left  their  signet  on  his  hoary  head, 
And  now  he  wished  to  lay  his  ashes  down, 
To  sleep  their  longest  sleep  in  that  still  place. 

It  was  a  lovely  night :  the  storm  had  past, 
And  cliff,  and  rock,  and  shrub,  and  mountain  stream, 

*  Written,  probably,  at  sixteen ;  and  illustrating  the  influence  of  music 
by  three  incidents  familiar  to  most  readers. 


48  SKETCHES  OF  MUSIC. 

Were  quiet  in  the  moonlight,  —  you  might  dream, 
It  was  the  eve  before  Creation  waked  ; 
And  all  was  bright,  save  where  those  Alpine  cliffs 
Cast  their  long  shadows  o'er  the  brilliant  scene. 
Hush  !  hush  !    there  is  a  ripple  on  the  waters ; 
And  you  may  hear  far,  far  away  the  plash 
Of  the  light  oar  !  —  Nearer  and  nearer  yet  ! 
And  the  trim  bark  is  floating  calmly  down  ; 
And  there,  before  him,  the  past  scenes  of  youth 
And  infancy  were  sleeping  bright  and  noiseless  ; 
They  were  the  same,  —  as  purely  beautiful 
To  him  as  ever,  —  and  still  loved  as  much ! 
Was  it  not  heaven  to  gaze  again  upon  them  ? 
But  hark  !  the  sounds  of  music  o'er  that  wave  ! 
Softer  and  sweeter  they  are  floating  now, 
Breathing  their  richness  o'er  the  silent  water. 

"True,  other  climes  may  be  more  fair, 
And  fruits  and  flowers  grow  lovelier  there  ; 
Dearer  to  me  than  all  the  rest, 
Thou  art  the  land  I  love  the  best ! 

"  Our  hearts  are  warm,  —  our  souls  are  free, 
Our  bosoms  bound  full  merrily  ; 
Our  hearts,  our  souls,  our  arms,  shall  be 
Devoted  still  to  thine  and  thee  !  " 

And  could  it  be  ?  —  It  was  indeed  the  same  ! 
He  knew  it  from  his  boyhood  up  ;  —  and  once 
He  loved  to  listen  to  the  thrilling  strain, 
As  it  rang  wild  and  loud  from  cave  to  cave. 
It  was  indeed  the  same  !    and  that,  the  home, 


SKETCHES  OF  MUSIC.  49 

Where  he  had  loved  so  well  to  hear  it  sung  ! 
He  caught  the  sound,  ere  it  had  died  away, 
And  chanted  one  more  strain  ;  it  was  the  one 
He  used  to  love  the  best  in  days  gone  by. 

"  Oh  !  let  my  sleeping  ashes  lie 
Beneath  thy  green  sod  peacefully, 
Most  loved  of  all,  my  native  land, 
My  home,  my  country,  Switzerland  !  " 

The  song  was  hushed  ;  the  echo  came  and  went, 
And  all  was  still  again.     That  little  bark 
Floated  as  smoothly  and  as  calmly  on  ; 
But  he,  who  had  been  guiding  it,  was  sleeping. 


SKETCH    II. 

"  And  I  have  loved  thce,  ocean  !  and  my  joy 
Of  youthful  sports  was  on  thy  breast  to  be 
Borne,  like  thy  billows,  onward  ;  from  a  boy 
I  wantoned  with  thy  breakers." 

BYRON. 

HAIL  to  thy  billows  !    I  will  love  thee  still  ! 
Though  danger,  death,  and  tempest  rest  upon  thee, 
Yet  I  will  love  thee   still  !    There  is  a  pomp, 
A  kingly  pride  and  majesty  upon  thee  ; 
And,  when  the  angry  tempest  was  abroad, 
I  have  felt  fain  to  mingle  with  thy  waves, 
Amid  the  angry  war  of  earth  and  heaven, 
And  be  borne  on  with  thy  billows ! 
5 


50  SKETCHES  OF  MUSIC. 

Proudly  those  gallant  ships  are  wafted  on, 
And  bright  the   streamers  that  are  flaunting  high, 
And  soft  the  breeze  that  sports  amid  their  folds, 
And  calm  the  waters   over  which  they  float. 
It  was  a  goodly  sight  ;  and  far  from  foreign  lands 
The  GOD  of  tempests  had  preserved  them  hither. 
Far  from  the  bosom  of  their  sunny  homes 
They  had  gone   forth  in  search  of  lands  unknown  ; 
And,  though  the  tempest  had  been  sore   upon  them, 
Through  doubt  and  death  and  danger  they  had  come, 
And  come   in  peace.      It  was  a  Sabbath  eve  : 
The  Sabbath  sun  was  calmly  sinking  down, 
And  his  last  rays  of  heavenly  brilliancy 
Rested  alike  on  sail  and  shore  and  wave  ; 
The  very  winds  and  waters  were  as  calm 
As  when  their  Maker  bid  them,  "Peace  !  be  still." 
And  there,  in  the  unbroken  sleep  of  ages, 
The   object   of  their  hopes  and   fears   and  prayers 
Lay  in  its  loveliness.  - —  "  Gracias   a   Dios  !  " 
And  ten  thousand  voices  swelled  the  chorus, 
"  Gracias  a  Dios  !  "  and  the  sound  went  forth 
In  holy  majesty  upon  the  waters, 
"  Gracias  d  Dios  !  "  and  the  echo  came 
Back  from  the  shore  in  soft  and  silvery  richness. 
And  then  a  strain  of  sweetest  harmony, 
The  sound  of  flute  and  harp  and  trumpet,  came, 
And  rose   and  swelled  in  its  unearthly  sweetness, 
Till  the  whole   air  was  changed  to  harmony : 
And  then  at  last,  that  strain  !    it  died  away, 
Till  far,  far  off  upon  the  rippled  sea," 
Its  holy  music  melted  into  silence. 


SKETCHES  OF  MUSIC.  51 


SKETCH    III. 

"  Oh,  surely  melody  from  Heaven  was  sent, 
To  cheer  the  soul  when  tired  with  human  strife, 
And  soothe  the  wayward  heart  by  sorrow  rent." 

H.  K.  WHITE. 

THERE  is   a  land  of  melody  and  love, 
There  is  a  land  of  poetry   and  feeling, 
And,  though  the  soul  that  once  inspired  has  fled, 
Still  it  is  lovely.     'T  is  said  that  beauty 
Doth  seem  most  fair,  most  beautiful,  in  death  ;  * 
And  so,  methinks,  it  is  with  Italy. 

It  was  a  kingly  pile  of  olden  time  ; 
And  he,  who  gazed  upon  its  moss-grown  tower, 
Its  Gothic  buttresses  and  battlements, 
Might  know  full  well  it  was  of  "  days  gone  by." 
That  night  there  was  a  holy  festival  ; 
And  homeless  poverty,   and  titled  pomp, 
Were  gathered  there  within  those  holy  walls  : 
Crowd  after  crowd  they  came,  till  there  they  stood 
A  vast,  a  mighty   mass  of  human  life, 
In  hushed  and  motionless  expectancy. 
And  one  there   was  among  that  multitude, 
A  man  of  princely  birth,   a  man  of  crime, 
Whose  heart  was  black  with  many  a  heinous  sin  :  — 
Ay  !    sins  of  every  name   and  every  die 
Were  heaped  in  frightful  gathering  on  his  soul. 

The  sound  was  soft  at  first  ;   and  you  might  dream 
It  was  an  angel's  whisper :  —  once  it  rose, 

*  See  "The  Giaour." 


SKETCHES  OF  MUSIC. 


But,  like   a  lamp,  it  flickered,  and  went  down; 
And  then  its  sound  came   back  as  soft   again, 
And  wildly  swept  along  that  Gothic  aisle, 
And  swelled  through  mouldering  arch  and  towering 

dome, 

Till  every  bosom  seemed  too  full  to  bear  it. 
It  told  how  man  had  sinned,   and  GOD  forgiven ; 
It  told  of  sorrow  and  of  penitence  ; 
It  promised  pardon  to  the  contrite  heart, 
Peace  upon  earth,  and  rest  at  last  in  heaven  ; 
It  told  of  one  who  left  his  father's  home, 
And  journeyed  far  away  to  foreign  lands, 
How  he  had  sinned,  and  suffered,  —  and  had  said, 
When  sickness,  want,   and  sorrow  lay   upon  him, 
"I  will  arise  and  go  unto  my  father." 
The    strain    was    hushed  :  —  it    paused,  —  and   then 

came  back, 

Softer,  —  and  louder,  —  yet  more  sweet,  it  came, 
"I  will  arise   and  go  unto  my  father." 
And  that  man  of  crime  !     He  looked  to  heaven, 
In  humbled  penitence  ;    and  sobbed  aloud, 
"I  will  arise  and  go  unto   my  father." 
And  there,  before  that  shrine,  he  knelt  him  down,  — 
He  wept  and  prayed,  —  was  heard  and,  was  forgiven. 


TO  A  FRIEND,  A  YOUNG  LADY. 

SAY,  hast  thou  seen  a  summer  sky, 
When  day's  bright  beams  have  gone, 

And  left  a  mellow  radiance  there, 
Where  last  their  glories  shone  ? 

And  hast  thou  seen  this  evening  sky 

All  pictured  on  the  lake, 
Whose  sweetly  sleeping  waters  seemed 

A  mimic  heaven  to  make  ? 

That  sunset  splendor  passed  away, 

Night-shadows  gathered  o'er 
The  spot  where  all  was  loveliness  ; 
Its  bright  hues  were  no  more. 

Thus  too  our  joys,  our  thoughts  of  bliss, 

Our  fond  hopes  unconfmed, 
Will  pass  away,  like  twilight  scenes, 

And  leave  no  trace  behind. 


54 


TO  THE  SAME. 

3T  is  sweet  to  rove,  in  gladsome  hour, 
From  scene  to  scene,  —  from  flower  to  flower  ; 
}T  is  sweet  to  cast  the  raptured  eye 
O'er  all  that  smiles  so  beauteously. 

The  storm  may  come,  —  the  tempest  lower, 
To  blast  the  glories  of  each  flower  ; 
But  spring's  kind  beams,  and  gentle  rain, 
Will  give  it  back  its  sweet  again. 

Fair  maiden  !  youth's  wild  garlands  round 
Thy  brow  are  woven  ;    may  they  be  found, 
In  after  times,  as  green  and  fair, 
As  aught  that  ever  clustered  there  ! 

But,  should  life's  storm-clouds  meet  the  brow, 
Where  youth  and  beauty  gambol  now, 
The  tempest  in  its  fury  may 
A  wreath  so  lovely  tear  away. 

But  Heaven  will  twine  a  lovelier  there, 
Around  thy  gently  flowing  hair  ; 
It  shall  be  culled  from  Paradise, 
And  win  its  fragrance  from  the  skies. 


55 


HUMILITY.  * 

I  BRING  no  tale  of  passion  or  of  war, 
Of  empires  wasted  or  of  honor  won, 
Nor  yet  of  genius  that  ambition  fired, 
Flushed  with  success  and  wounded  by  contempt  ; 
A  lowlier  strain  is  sweeter  far  to  me, 
I  sing  the  praises  of  Humility. 
Fairest  and  brightest  of  the  forms  that  stoop 
To  tabernacle  with  the  sons  of  men  ! 
Thee,  from  thy  dazzling  dwelling-place  in  heaven, 
I  now  invoke  !    Oh  breathe  into  my  soul 
A  hallowed  portion  of  thy  own  pure  spirit,  — 
So  shall  thyself  best  plead  thy  cause  with  man, 
And  win  what  thou  deserv'st,  —  the  prize  of  love  ! 

Humility  !  her  home  is  far  away, 
Beyond  the  cloud-built  mountains  of  the  air, 
Beyond  the  untravelled  regions  of  the  sky, 
In  glory  unapproachable  to  man, 
Where  GOD'S  own  majesty  doth  sit  enthroned ! 
Is  it  not  strange,  that  one  so  meek  and  lowly, 
Should  choose  a  home  so  high,  so  bright,  as  this, 


*  Delivered  before  the  Alumni  of  Washington  College,  at  Hartford,  in 
August,  1833.  For  purity  and  depth  of  sentiment,  for  vigor  of  imagination 
and  power  of  illustration  and  description,  —  and  written  by  a  youth  who 
had  not  made  poetry  his  study,  —  this  is  a  most  remarkable  production. 
It  was  the  last  piece  written  by  our  friend  ;  hastily,  and  amid  the  occupa 
tion  of  other  duties  :  and  it  shows  how  high  was  the  promise  of  his  ma- 
turer  years.  Yet  its  intrinsic  merits  are  very  uncommon. 


56  HUMILITY. 

Where  meet  the  principalities  of  heaven, 

In  the  vast  presence-chamber  of  the  LORD  of  Hosts? 

Should  find  a  worthy  welcome  only  there  ? 

Yet  angels  and  archangels,  —  cherubim 

And  winged  seraphim,  —  all,  all  have  learned 

The  lowly  temper  of  humility. 

See,  where  they  gathering  come,  on  sweeping  wing, 

Cleaving  that  atmosphere  of  silvery  light, 

Each  with  a  golden  crown,  and  harp  more  sweet 

Than  the  soft  breathings  of  the  softest  lute  ; 

See,  where  they  come,  —  far,  far  away,  —  as  far 

As  angel's  eye  can  reach,  a  countless  host 

Of  angel  worshippers,  each  with  a  song  ! 

So  is  it,  too,  as  far  as  earth  may  be 

Like  unto  heaven,  at  close  of  summer  eve, 

When  each  fair  singing  bird  returneth  home,  — 

Home  from  its  long  and  weary  wanderings  ; 

Each  brings  the  tribute  of  a  sunset  song, 

And  the  wide  grove  is  rich  with  melody. 

And  all  are  gathered  now  before  the  throne  ! 
Oh,  who  can  tell  what  rapture  is  in  heaven, 
When  all  its  happy  millions  meet  to  praise  ? 
Humility,  upon  her  harp  of  gold, 
Hath  touched  the  key-note  of  heaven's  harmonies, 
And,  as  it  steals  upon  the  ravished  ear, 
You  scarce  can  tell,  whether  it  be  not  rapture 
Rather  than  music. 
Soft  as  the  latest  light  of  parting  day, 
Sweet  as  the  perfume  of  the  desert  rose, 
Melting  as  is  the  eloquence  of  tears. 


HUMILITY.  57 

Earth  too  has  music  ;  and  oft  the  spirit. 

Weary  and  heavy  laden  with  its  sorrows, 

Doth  find  a  resting-place  in  melody. 

But,  angels'  melodies  !    the  happy  soul, 

Amid  its  gladdest  flow  of  joyous  feeling, 

Cannot  conceive  how  passing  sweet  they  are. 

Humility  hath  touched  her  harp  of  gold, 

And,  as  the  sound  steals  forth  on  listening  silence, 

Each  soul  grows  full  of  thankfulness  and  love, 

And  each  glad  heart  runs  over  with  emotion, 

Till  thoughts  seem  melted  into  ecstasy. 

Such  are  the  preludes  to  heaven's  harmonies  ; 

None  know,  but  those  who  ever  worship  there, 

The  unearthly  grandeur  of  that  choral  song, 

That  goeth  up  around  the  throne  of  GOD  : 

Yet  there  is  not  a  heart,  or  harp,  or  voice, 

That  's  not  attuned  to  deep  humility  ! 

Humility  hath  her  bright  home  in  heaven  ; 
And  yet  she  sometimes  stoops  to  visit  earth  : 
Twice  hath  she  come  in  all  her  loveliness  ; 
But  then  she  came  to  those,  whose  hearts  were  pure 
As  the  vermilion  folds  of  sunset  clouds, 
Where  rests  the  lingering  light  of  parting  day,  — 
Pure  as  the  quiet  tops  of  the  high  mountains, 
Holiest  of  all  on  earth,  as  nearest  heaven, 
Where  never  cometh  but  the  moaning  wind, 
Or  the  white  snow,  or  the  unsullied  light. 

'Tis  sunset  in  the  bowers  of  Paradise  ; 
And  yet  the  light  lingers  upon  the  flowers, 
As  if  't  were  loth  to  bid  the  sad  good-night. 


58  HUMILITY. 

It  is  the  hour  for  worship  :  —  oh  how  sweet  ! 

And  there,  upon  the  brow  of  a  green  hill, 

Just  on  the  borders  of  Euphrates'  stream, 

They  stand,  —  the  earliest  dwellers  on  the  earth, 

As  yet  the  holiest.     The  deep  waters 

Lie  in  the  quiet  of  a  sleeping  child, 

While  the  glad  wind  comes,  like  a  messenger, 

Bearing  the  perfume  of  a  thousand  flowers, 

With  all  the  sweetness  of  a  thousand  songs. 

It  is  the  hour  for  worship  ;  —  and  they  kneel, 

Hand  clasped  in  hand,  upon  the  grassy  sod. 

Read  in  that  eye  the  eloquence  of  love, 

The  silent  eloquence  of  thankfulness  ; 

And  then,  the  quivering  lip  !    it  moves  in  prayer, 

And  such  petitions  !     Sweet  humility  ! 

Young  Paradise,  in  all  her  virgin  beauty, 

Was  not,  methinks,  so  beautiful  as  thou  ! 

'T  is  true,  her  skies  were  genial  and  serene  ; 

'T  is  true,  her  flowers  were  delicately  fair  ; 

'T  is  true,  her  music  was  all  wild  and  sweet  ; 

Yet  these  were  all  of  earth,  and  thou  of  heaven ! 

Softly,  upon  the  plains  of  Bethlehem, 
Slept  the  clear  moonbeams  ;   and  it  was  midnight. 
Upon  a  knoll,  o'erhung  with  palms,  were  shepherds, 
Feeding  their  flocks  by  night.     Ever  and  anon 
Came  on  the  wind  the  hum  of  the  far  city  ; 
For  Bethlehem  counts  her  multitudes  to-night, 
And  David's  children  have  come  up  to  pay 
Their  servile  tribute  to  a  Gentile  king  : 

O     t 

Yet,  at  a  midnight  hour,  like  this  serene, 


HUMILITY.  59 

Bethlehem  seems  as  beautiful,  as  when 
The  sleeping  patriarch  saw  the  angels  come 
And  go,  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to  heaven. 
But  lo  !    what  sudden  brightness  !    did  the  moon 
Break  forth  from  a  black  night  cloud  ?  did  a  meteor 
Flash  out  in  fitful  splendor  on  the  sky  ? 
It  is  the  glory  of  the  LORD  ;    "  Fear  not," 
His  angel  comes  with  messages  of  love, 
"  Thy  King  is  born  ;  —  thy  own  Messiah  King  !  " 
Hark  !   'tis  heaven's  music  !    Oh!  look  up,  and  see 
The  thousand  thousand  forms  of  its  bright  worship 
pers  ; 

And  mark,  upon  their  waving  wings,  the  light, 
The  softly  blending  light  of  earth  and  heaven ; 
And  listen  to  that  strain, —  'tis  meant  for  thee, — 
"  Glory  to  GOD  in  heaven  !   and  peace  on  earth  ! 
Good  will  to  men  !  "    The  glory  hath  departed  ; 
The  song  hath  ceased  ;   and  the  last  trembling  echo 
Hath  died  away  to  silence  deeper  still. 
As  softly  as  before  on  Bethlehem's  plains 
Sleep  the  clear  moonbeams. 
Within  a  manger,  on  a  couch  of  straw, 
Slumbered  the  infant  Jesus  ;   fit  beginning 
For  a  long  life  of  weariness  and  woe  ! 
Hast  thou  a  heart,  that  's  weary  of  its  pride, 
And  seeks  for  quiet  in  humility  ? 
Come,  go  upon  this  pilgrimage  of  sorrow, 
With  one,  who  was  in  birth,   and  life,   and  death, 
The  fairest  pattern  of  humility  ;' 
Come,  listen  to  his  converse  with  the  poor  ; 
Come,  see  him  bear  the  proud  and  cruel  scoff; 


60  HUMILITY. 

Come,  share  the  alms  that  charity  has  given ; 

Come,  watch  his  slumbers  on  the  cold,  cold  earth  ; 

Come  to  the  passion  of  Gethsemane  ; 

Come  to  the  closing  grief  of  Calvary. 

He  came,  as  doth  a  lamb  unto  the  slaughter, 

He  opened  not  his  mouth  ;    behold  and  see, 

If  there  be  any  sorrow  like  unto 

His  sorrow  !    behold  and  see,  if  there  be 

Any  humility  like  unto  his 

Humility  ! 

The  sun  may  lose  his  brightness,  and  grow  black, 
Even  in  mid  heaven  ;    the  mother  may  forget 
Her  infant  child,   and  be  a  mother  still. 
The  human  heart  may  nurse  within  the  chambers, 
Formed  by  its  GOD  for  every  kind  affection, 
Envy,  and  hate,  and  cold  misanthropy, 
And  still  remain  the  heart.     Not  so  with   Virtue  : 
For  she,  when  parted  from  Humility, 
Dieth,  as  surely  as  doth  fade  away 
The  mimic  landscape,  from  the   unrippled   stream, 
With  the  last  light  of  day. 

And  so,  too,  is  it  with  Philosophy. 
Humility,  that  loveth  to  be  taught, 
Must  go   and  teach  this  temper  to  her  sister. 
Yes,  it  must  mingle  with  the  hidden  springs 
Of  thought,  and  hope,  and   feeling,  and  intent, 
Until  the  lip,  and   eye,  and  inmost  heart, 
Speak  in  sweet  unison.     So,  when  she  cometh 
To  learn  the  mysteries  of  GOD'S  great  works, 


HUMILITY.  61 

The  chastened  tones  of  her  inquiring  voice 

Will  meet  a  kind  response  where'er  they  come. 

To  seek  for  knowledge  !     Why,  it  is  to  seek 

To  hold  communion  with  Omnipotence  ; 

To  gaze  on  circling  worlds  of  ceaseless  light, 

And  ask  how  Infinite  Power  sustains  them  there  ; 

To  challenge  the  fierce  tempest,  as  it  goes 

On  its  majestic  pathway  through  the  sky, 

And  learn  on  what  dread  errand  it  is  sent  ; 

To  catch  the  leaf  that  floats  upon  the  wind, 

And  ask  why  its   great  Maker  formed  it  so  ; 

To  enter  the  dark  places  of  the  mind, 

And  mark  the  embryo  forms  of  thought  and  will  ; 

To  gaze  within  the    crater   of  the   passions, 

And   see   the  heaving  throe,  the  fearful  gleam, 

And  ask  those  angry  elements  what  ends 

They  answer   in  GOD'S  vast   and  wonderous  plan  ! 

Oh,  who  will  carry  forth  a  heart  of  pride 

On  errand  such  as  this  ?    Say,    as  we  stand 

Within  the  sanctuary  of  creation,  — 

GOD'S  most  magnificent  sanctuary,  built 

Upon  the  unseen  pillars  of  his  power, 

Stretching  away  beyond  the  reach  of  sight, 

Or  winged  thought,  until  the  burdened  mind 

Is  weary  with  its  own  imaginings,  — 

Who  will  not  feel,  that  this  is  holy  ground  ? 

Who  will  not  feel,  that  GOD  indeed  is  great  ? 

Who,  if  he  thither  come  to  seek  for  knowledge, 

Who  will  not  kneel  and  be  a  suppliant  here  ? 

There  is  what  men  do  call  Philosophy. 
It  goeth  forth  amid  the  works  of  GOD  ; 
6 


HUMILITY. 

But  mind,  and  earth,  and  air,  and  sky,  are  still, 
As  if  the  enchanter's  magic  wand  had  passed, 
And  changed  them  all  to  cold  and  voiceless  marble. 
It  builds  itself  a  high  and  kingly  throne, 
And  sways  a  tyrant's  sceptre  ;    Truth  is  led, 
Like  a  poor  captive,  at  its  chariot  wheels, 
And  suffering  Nature  mourns  through  all  her  works. 
Ah!    this  is   not  Philosophy,  but  Pride  ! 

It  seems,  my  brothers,    but  as  yesterday, 
Since  first  our  willing  steps  were  hither  bent 
In  search  of  knowledge.      Even  now  we  stand 
Just  by  her  golden  gates,  and  gaze  away 
Into  her  labyrinths  of  loveliness. 
We  hear  the  fearful  curse   denounced  on  those, 
Who  promised  to  direct,  but  led  astray,  — 
The  melancholy  cry  of  murdered  peace. 
And  yet  it   almost  prompts  the  tear  of  joy, 
To  think  what  deep  delight,  what  usefulness, 
Are  his,  who  walks  upon  that  magic  ground, 
Yet  walks  in  safety  ! 

Who  —  who  will  be  to  us  the  friend,  the  guide, 
That  will  conduct   us  to  our  journey's  end  ? 
Oh  sweet  Humility  !    thy  lowly  temper 
Shall  be  to  us  our  Star  of  Bethlehem, 
Shall  guide  our  footsteps  in  our  wanderings, 
And  bring  us  safely  to  our  home  at  last  ; 
Amid  the  mazes  of  bewildered  thought 
Thy  heavenly  light  shall  rest  upon  our  path, 
And,  as  we  humbly  bow  to  ask  for  guidance, 
Reveal  the  hand  that  kindly  points  the  way ! 


HUMILITY.  63 

There  is  no  sin  in  Nature  ;  —  and  the  man, 
Whose  spirit  holds  communion  with  her  spirit, 
Will  find  a  sweet  and  soothing  influence  steal, 
Like  the  strange  power  of  music,  o'er  his  heart ; 
His  spirit  will  forget  its  wonted   pride, 
And  learn  to  worship,  as  it  learns  to  feel. 
But  he,  who  seeks  to  know  Humility 
In  all  her  loveliness,  must  come   and  gaze 
Upon  her  likeness  in  GOD'S  holy  word; 
His  own  unerring  hand  hath  sketched  it  there, — 
So  beautiful,  it  well  may  win  our  love. 

It  was  amid  the  visions  of  the  night  : 
Darkness  lay  like  a  mantle  on  the  earth  ; 
I  dreamed,  I  stood  upon  heaven's  battlements, 
And  lo  !    an  angel  spread  his  mighty  wings, 
And  took  his  flight  along  the  golden  wall, 
That  girds  the  courts  of  everlasting  light  ; 
And,  as  he  flew,  he  lifted  up  his  voice, 
And  cried,  "  Humility  is  dead  !  " 
A  strange  convulsion  came  upon  my  frame, 
And  the   cold  sweat  stood  on  my  throbbing  brow  ; 
Thrice  did  he  spread  his  pinions  to  the  wind, 
And  thrice  I  heard  that  melancholy  cry, 
"  Humility  is  dead  !  "  —  and  then  he  paused, 
Even  in  mid  heaven,  and  folded  up  his  wings, 
And  bowed  his  head  upon  his  breast,  and  died. 
I  looked  to  heaven  ;    and  from  its  crystal  columns 
The  banners  of  rebellion  were  hung  out, 
And  on  them  written,  "Goo  is  King  no  more!" 
Those  harps,  that  late  had  breathed  such  rapturous 
strains. 


64  HUMILITY. 

Upon  the  jewelled  pavement  lay  unstrung  ; 
Strange  sounds  of  blasphemy  broke  on  the  ear. 
And  fearful  shouts  usurped  the  place  of  praise. 
I  looked  to  earth,  —  and  as  I  looked  I  wept  : 
Good  men  forgot  their  wonted  gentleness, 
And  higher  swelled  the  angry  cry  for  blood,  — 
The  blood  of  rulers  whom  they  late  had  loved  ; 
Earth  seemed   an  amphitheatre,  in  which 
Man's  vilest  passions  strove  for  mastery. 
A  moment  more  ;  —  a  rushing,  mighty  sound 
Came  like  the  noise  of  many  chariot  wheels, 
And  heaven  and  earth   were  hushed  to  quietness, 
For  both  were  still  in  universal  death. 

My  brothers,  we  have  hither  come  to-day, 

Forth  from  the  turmoil  of  the  busy  world, 

The  strife  of  passion  and  of  interest,  — 

Have  turned  away  from  sorrow  and  from  care, 

To  come  to  this  glad  meeting  of  warm  hearts, 

This  holy  festival  of  love  and  joy. 

Unutterable  thoughts  come  o'er  the  soul, 

With  their  sweet   burden  of  departed  bliss. 

We  have  scarce  learned  the  rudiments  of  sorrow, 

And  yet  these  by-gone  days  seem  passing  sweet ! 

What  then,  when  years  shall  come,  if  come  they  do, 

And  the  tired  spirit  find  no  resting-place 

From  its  afflictions,  save  the  past,  and  heaven  ? 

Our  memories  !  —  how  very  kind  they  are, 

Just  like  the  summer  wind,  that  comes  at  eve, 

Upon  a  bed  of  roses,  that  has  lain 

In  its  unruffled  sweetness  all  day  long, 


HUMILITY.  65 

And  folds  their  gathered  fragrance  in  its  arms, 
A  welcome  tribute  to  some  other  land. 
Oh,  you  remember  all  !  —  't  is  treasured  up, 
In  the  deep  chambers  of  the  inmost  breast  ! 
And,  when  I  touch  the  chord  of  college  days, 
I  wake  a  thousand  hidden  harmonies. 
Do  not  forget  them  :  —  they  will  be  to  you, 
As  are  the  notes  of  that  strange  singing  bird, 
That  dies  in  music  ;  —  the  last  seems  sweetest ! 
Do  not  forget  them :  —  it  would  be  unkind 
Thus  to  repay  the  pleasures  they  have  given. 
Do  not  forget  them :  —  for  our  early  joys 
And  early  friends  are  linked  in  love  together. 
By  all  the  friendship  you  have  once  professed,  — • 
Yes  !   by  this  solemn  hour,  —  do  not  forget. 


66 


A  VISION. 

IN  the  night  watch  my  vision  came  and  went  : 
Methought  I  stood  among  the  gathered  crowd, 
And  gazed  upon  the  vivid   scene  that  passed 
In  full  review  before  me,  —  for  't  was  bright ! 
The  tramping   steed  in  rich  caparison, 
With  eye  that  almost  looked  contempt  for  man,  — 
'T  was  well  he  should  be  proud  ;    for  he  did  bear 
Greatness,  and  glory,  all  that  men  call  such  ;  — 
And,   as  the  splendid  pomp  was  passing  on, 
The  swelling  bugle,  and  the  rolling  drum, 
And  trump,  that  tells  the  greatness  of  the  great, 
Sent  forth  their  music  on  the  sportive  wind, 
And  brought  to  memory  the  glorious  past ; 
The  din  of  war  came  forth  with  sound  so  deep, 
And  the  rich  battle-field  was  pictured  there  ! 
The  cavalcade  passed  on ;    and  knight,  and  plume, 
And  glittering  arms,  and  horsemen  well  attired, 
Shone  in  their  splendor,  as  they  passed  along. 

The  vision  changed  :  — and  music's  sweetest  notes 
Came  with  a  silken  sound  upon  my  ear  ; 
Beauty  was  smiling  there  with  angel  charms, 
And  shed  her  radiance  o'er  the  fairy  scene  ; 
Bright  eyes  looked  love  to  eyes  that  shone  as  fair 
As  moonbeams  stealing  through  some   silvery  cloud; 
And  hearts  beat  high  with  fond  expectancy 
Of  coming  happiness  and  hours  of  bliss  ;  — 
They  thought  not,  cared  not,  for  the  distant  future  ; 


A  VISION.  67 

But  each  glad  heart  disowned  control,  and  leapt 
Responsive  to  the  sounds  that  floated  there. 
Yes  !    they  were  sounds  a  cherub  need  not  blush 
To  own,  —  so   soft,  so  full,  and  yet  so  sweet 
They  were  !     And  she   was  beautiful  and  bright, 
Who  lisped  such  sounds.    I  gazed,  and  turned  away, 
Then  gazed  again  on  form  so  more  than  fair  ; 
Hope,  youth,  and  innocence  shone   from  an  eye, 
That  seemed  as  if  't  would  never  shed  a  tear, 
Save  o'er  the  grief  of  others  ;  — they,  who  looked, 
Seemed  to  forget  the  gnawing  cares  of  life, 
And  thought  of  heaven,  as  they  were  gazing  there, 
She  was  so  beautiful  ! 


68 


LINES, 

WRITTEN    ON    SAILING     UP     THE    HOUSATONIC,    AUGUST,    1832, 

HIST  !    the  wandering  winds  have  found  thee, 
O'er  the   waters  as  they  come  !  — 

Light  and  beauty  are  around  thee  ; 
Waft  us  to  our  welcome  home  ! 

Hours  of  calm  and  holy  feeling ! 

\Velcome  in  a  holier  day. 
While  my  heart,  your  pinions  stealing, 

Wings  her  flight  to  heaven  away  ! 

Hills,  that  bend  in  silence  o'er  me ! 

Rippling  waters,  gemmed  with  light ! 
Flowers,  that  bloom  unknown  before  me ! 

Holy,  pensive,  quiet  night  ! 

Memory  will  love  the  hour  I  met  thee  ! 

And,  wherever  I  may  dwell, 
Never  shall  this  heart  forget  ye  ! 

Hills  and  waters  !    fare  ye  well  ! 


69 


THE  DEATH  OF  MOSES.* 

HE  had  grown  old  in  serving  Israel's  GOD, 
The  favored  servant  of  the  LORD  of  Hosts,  — 
Whose  richest  love   had  ever  rested  on  him, 
More  pure,  more  bright,  than  the  last  farewell  gleam 
Of  yon  departing  sun  ;  —  a  holy  man  ! 
From  that  dread  hour,  when,  first  on  Horeb's  top 
He  gazed  upon  the   bush  that  burned  unhurt, 
Down  to   this  hour  of  deep  solemnity, 
He  had  been  still  the  changeless  friend  of  GOD, 
Had  held  communion  with  him  face  to  face, 
Had  been  commissioned  in  his  mighty  name, 
Had  ruled  till  now,  a  king  in  Israel. 

Far  o'er  the  sea,  in  golden  majesty, 
The  western  sun  is  sinking  to  his  rest  ; 
And  the  bright   gloamings  of  his  fading  glory 
Are  lingering  on  the  hills  of  Palestine. 
Far,  far  away,  where  Pisgah's  mountain  tops 
Are  piled  in  still  ascending  cliffs  to  heaven, 
That  sunset  light  is  resting  on  them  still, 
While  Nebo  lifts  his  kingly  head  above, 
So  that  the   sinking  sun,  before  he  die, 
May  crown  it  with  his  richest,  brightest  blessing. 

Faintly,  upon  his  pale   and  sunken  cheek, 
The  noiseless  evening  wind  breathed  tremulously  ; 

*  Written  in  1832.    See  the  last  chapters  of  Deuteronomy  for  the  basis 
of  the  poem. 


70  THE  DEATH  OF  MOSES. 

And  soft  upon  his  smooth,  uncovered  brow, 

The  mellow  evening  light  is  resting  now. 

His  eye   undimmed,  —  with  all  its  brightness  still,  — 

Is  turned  to  Heaven  in  looks  of  penitence  ; 

His  folded  hands  are  resting  on  his  breast  ; 

His  heaving  bosom   swells  with  strong  emotion, 

With  prayers  for  pardon  and  eternal  rest. 

Peace  to  thy  soul!    thy  sin  has  been  forgiven  ! 

For,  o'er  that   sunken  cheek  so  wan,  so  pale, 

Hath  passed  the  delicate  flush  of  hope  and  joy; 

That  tearful  eye,   so  full  of  penitence, 

Is  beaming   with  a  brightness  not  its  own ; 

And  on  that  lip,  that  trembled  with  deep  sorrow, 

Is  resting  now   a  smile   as  beautiful 

As  that  which  childhood  wears  in  dreams  of  heaven. 

Oh  ye,  who  tread  the  dazzling  courts  of  GOD, 

Or  plume  your  wings  amid  his  holy  light  ! 

Say,  whether  from  the  face  of  worshipper, 

Cherub,  or  seraph,  or  archangel  bright, 

There  ever  beams  more  of  the  light  of  heaven, 

Than  rests  upon  the  visage  of  this  man  ! 

Slowly,  —  as  from  some  lonely  mountain  top, 
The  sunlight  fades  in  quiet  loveliness, — 
From  his  calm  brow  that  holy  radiance  went. 
Before  his  mind  the  visions  of  the  past 
Came  in  the  splendor  which  at  first  they  wore  ; 
The  glorious  workings  of  Jehovah's  power, 
His  mighty  miracles,  his  wonderous  signs, 
Were  wrought  again  in  his  imaginings. 


THE  DEATH  OF  MOSES.  7 1 

He  stood  upon  the  shore  of  the  deep  sea, 
And  stretched  his  hand  above  its  angry  waters, 
And  the  dark  billows  parted  here  and  there, 
To  make  a  pathway  for  the  ransomed  ones. 
Lo  !    the  proud  host  of  Egypt's  prouder  king 
Is  madly  treading  the  same  frightful  path  ! 
"Stretch  out  thy  hand  once   more   above  the  sea!" 
A  moment  more  ;  —  and  the  returning  deep 
Lets  loose   the   crested  billows  of  its  wrath  ; 
The  mighty  waters  sweep  as  proudly   on, 
As  if  no  thousands  lay  in  death  beneath   them.* 

He  stood  upon  the   mount;  —  and  round  its  top 
Clouds  and  thick  darkness  gathered  ;  now  and  then 
The  dazzling  flashes  of  the  angry  lightning 
Pierced  the  thick  darkness,   and  the  deep  thunder 
Uttered  its  awful  voice.      On  that  dread  spot 
He  stood,  and  talked  with  GOD.  "f 

He  stood  in  the  still   cleft  of  Horeb's  mount  ; 
And  the   great  glory  of  JEHOVAH'S  presence 
Passed  in  its  awful  majesty  before  him, 
While   the  LORD  GOD  proclaimed  his  holy  name, 
Gracious  and  merciful,  long-suffering, 
The  GOD   that  pardoneth   sin, — the  GOD  of  Love,  f 

The  famished  host  of  Israel  lay  around  ; 
And  the  chill   hand  of  death   rested  alike 
On  the  helmed  warrior  and   his  lisping  child  ; 
The  frantic  mother  wildly  gazed  on  it, 

*  Exodus,  xiv.     f  Exodus,  xix.  and  xx.     J  Exodus,  iii. 


72  THE  DEATH  OF  MOSES. 

And  pressed  it  to  her  cold,  cold  breast,  and  wept, 
While  the  stern  sire  lift  up  his  eyes  to  Heaven, 
And  whispered  with  his  latest  strength  a  prayer. 
That  prayer  is  heard  :  —  for  lo  !    the  voice  of  GOD, 
"  Go  smite  the  rock,  that  they  may  drink  and  live  !  "* 
He  stood  and  smote  the  rock,  —  but  disbelieved. 
Oh,  name  it  not  !    it  was  a  grievous  sin ; 
It  robbed  him  of  his  fondest  earthly  hopes  ; 
But  o'er  it  hath  been  shed  full  many  a  tear, 
And  o'er  it  hath  been  breathed  full  many  a  prayer, 
And  He,  who  loves  so  well  to  pardon  sin, 
Hath  wiped  it  from  the  book  of  His  remembrance. 

Softly,  upon  the  beautiful   earth  beneath, 
Lay  the  calm  glory  of  an  eastern  twilight, 
And  o'er  that  hour,  which  always  seems  so  holy, 
Was  shed  a  most  unusual  sacredness. 
The  sun  had  sunk  behind  the  distant  deep  ; 
The   evening  wind  was   sleeping  on  its  wings  ; 
And,  far  away,  —  as  far  as  eye  could  reach,  — 
The  land  of  promise   lay  outstretched  before  him, 
And  its  ten  thousand  hills   and  woods  and  streams 
Were  quiet   as  when  first  creation  woke. 
A  few  bright  clouds  stood  forth  against  the  sky, 
Lingering  to  gaze  upon  a  scene  so  holy. 
As  saints,  that  in  their  musings  visit  heaven, 
Return  more  full  of  light  and  love   and  joy, 
So  this  soft  light,  reflected  from  the  sky, 
Seemed  far  more  beautiful  than  first  it  was. 
It  lay  upon  the  camp  of  Israel ; 

*  Exodus,  xvii. 


THE  DEATH  OF  MOSES.  73 

And,  as  the  gleamings  of  the  burnished  arms, 

And  the  rich  hangings  of  the  purple  tents, 

With  their  embroidered  standards  drooping  o'er  them, 

Fell  on  the  enraptured  eye,  you  well  might  dream, 

It  was  the  host,  which  once  on  heavenly  plains 

Rested,  —  when  Satan  and  his  impious  crew, 

Daring  to  battle  with  the  Omnipotent  GOD, 

Were  vanquished  by  the  glittering  hosts  of  heaven. 

"  My  people,  and  the  people  of  my  GOD  !  " 

And  the  deep  fountains  of  his   soul  broke  forth, 

W^ith  all  their  countless  streams  of  love   and  joy,  — 

"  My  people,  and  the  people   of  my  GOD, 

The  blessing  of  the   GOD  of  Israel, 

The  blessing  of  your  fathers'  GOD  be  with  you!  " 

The  latest  sound  of  that  departing  blessing 

Hath  sunk  to  silence  ;  —  all  is  hushed  again. 

Upon  the  peaceful  summit  of  that  mount 

He  sat  him  down,  and  leaned  his  aged  head 

Against  the  rock,  and  clasped  his  withered  hands. 

One  look  towards  the  tents  of  Israel  ;  — 

One  earnest,  fervent  prayer  for  them  and  him  ;  — 

One  struggling  sigh  ;  —  and  Moses  was  not. 

Man  hath  not  reared  a  princely  monument, 
And  carved  thereon  the  record  of  his  greatness, 
But  GOD   himself,  —  the  High  and  Holy  One,  — 
Hath  writ  within  the  volume  of  His  truth, 
"  He  was  a  servant  of  the  LORD."* 


Deuteronomy,  xxxix.  5,  and  in  other  places. 

7 


74 


"REMEMBER  ME."* 

"  REMEMBER  me," —  "  remember  me  ;  " 
When  far  in  other  lands  from  thee, 

When  distant  climes  our  hands  shall  sever, 
Oh  then  in  love  remember  me. 

Through  health  and  sickness,  joy  and  care, 
My  varied  path  of  life  must  be  ; 

But  where,  or  what,  it  matters  not, 
So  thou  in  love  remember  me. 

Then  fare  thee  well  whom  I  have  loved  ; 

Thy  memory  still  shall  cherished  be  ; 
Return  the  pledge  that  I  have  given, 

And  still,  oh  !    still  remember  me. 

By  young  affection's  earliest  gush, 
By  all  on  earth  that  's  dear  to  thee, 

By  manhood's  pride,  and  death's  cold  brow, 
"Remember  me,"  —  "  remember  me." 

*  Written,  probably,  at  sixteen. 


75 
REMEMBER  THEE ! 

RESPONSORY    TO    THE    FOREGOING    PIECE. 

REMEMBER  thee  !  that  full,  o'erhanging  brow, 
With  mind  expanding,  is  before  us  now  ; 
The  sunken  eyes,  beneath  their  long,  dark  lash, 
Now  dimly  muse,  or  quick  with  genius  flash. 

The  care-worn,  Roman  face,  the  lips  compressed, 
Effort  intense  and  purpose  firm  attest  ; 
And  all,  in  our  sad  fancy,  now  we  see, 
And  freshly,  fondly,  still  remember  thee. 

But  on  the  spirit's  image  more  we  gaze  ; 

Thy  burning  thought,   and  love,  thy  prayers,  and 

praise, 

Thy  strugglings  for  the  heathen  o'er  the  sea,  — 
On  these  we  dwell,  and  still  remember  thee. 

A  sweet  exotic  flower,  too  soon  exposed, 

Just  when  our  nurture  its  young  buds  disclosed, 

Amid  the  changes  of  this  foreign  sky, 

Felt  the  first  frost,  —  to  unfold  its  leaves,  and  die. 

And,  as  we  sorrowed,  when  we  found  it  dead, 
Its  rarest  beauty  on  the  chill  earth  spread, 
So,  brother,  for  thy  loss  our  tears  flow  free, 
And,  in  thy  death,  we  still  "  remember  thee." 

T.  H.  V. 


76 


EPITAPH  ON  LYDE, 

AN    ACROSTIC. 

LYDE  !    beneath   the    green   sod   sleeping, 
Youth    and    promise    we    are    weeping  ! 
Death    no    more   thy    lyre   is    keeping  ; 
Endless   hymns    its    chords    are    sweeping  ! 

T.  H.  V. 


ADDENDA. 


"  Vitavi  denique  culpain, 
"  Non  laudem  merui." 

HOR.  de  Arte  Poeticd,  267,  2G8. 


"  Holiness  makes  the  soul  like  a  field  or  garden  of  GOD,  with  all  man 
ner  of  pleasant  flowers  5  all  pleasant,  delightful,  and  undisturbed,  enjoying 
a  sweet  calm,  and  the  gently  vivifying  beams  of  the  sun.  The  soul  of  a 
true  Christian,  as  I  then  wrote  my  meditations,  appeared  like  such  a  little 
white  flower  as  we  see  in  the  spring  of  the  year,  low  and  humble,  on  the 
ground  ;  opening  its  bosom  to  receive  the  pleasant  beams  of  the  sun's  glo 
ry  5  rejoicing,  as  it  were,  in  a  calm  rapture;  diffusing  around  a  sweet  fra- 
grancy ;  standing  peacefully  and  lovingly  in  the  midst  of  other  flowers 
round  about  5  all,  in  like  manner,  opening  their  bosoms  to  drink  in  the  light 
of  the  sun.'* 

JONATHAN  EDWARDS. 


PRELIMINARY    NOTE 


The  size  of  this  little  volume  will  readily  suggest  an  apolo 
gy  for  the  succeeding  appendix.  The  number  of  leaves, 
occupied  by  the  Poetical  Remains  of  our  departed  brother, 
and  by  the  brief  notice  of  his  life  and  character,  being  so 
small,  would  have  been  adapted  rather  to  a  pamphlet,  than  a 
bound  book :  while  it  is  desirable  that  these  Remains  should  be 
brought  forward  in  a  form  more  suitable  for  their  preservation. 
It  was  deemed  advisable,  therefore,  to  add  a  few  pages  ;  and 
propriety  dictated  that  these  should  be  of  poetry.  The  follow 
ing  humble  verses  have  been  copied,  for  the  occasion,  out  of  a 
Note  Book  of  the  Editor.  A  friend,  who  saw  some  of  them, 
a  short  time  since,  and  in  whose  judgment  confidence  is  en 
tertained,  was  kind  enough  to  intimate,  that  they  would  bear 
publication.  They  have  been  written,  in  leisure  hours,  at  dif 
ferent  times,  and,  as  such  pieces  are  usually  composed,  rap 
idly,  and  upon  very  little  premeditation.  With  an  exception 
in  the  case  of  three  or  four  of  the  shorter  pieces,  there  has 
been  no  intention,  or  remote  thought,  of  their  being  ever  made 
public ;  and,  in  preparing  them  now  for  the  press,  their  revis 
ion  has  been  cursory  and  far  from  complete.  The  Editor 
trusts,  that,  although  they  may  not  be  entitled  to  notice  upon 
their  own  merits,  they  will  be  at  least  tolerated  in  their  pres 
ent  connexion.  Better  compositions  might  have  been  select 
ed  from  standard  authors  ;  but  most  persons  prefer  to  read,  in 


80  PRELIMINARY    NOTE. 

a  new  book,  original  matter,  even  if  poor,  rather  than  selected 
matter,  however  excellent,  which  may  be  elsewhere  obtained. 
He  must  be  allowed  to  say,  moreover,  that  there  is,  to  his 
mind,  a  sad  pleasure  in  thus  associating  himself  with  the  de 
ceased.  And  he  will  be  pardoned,  he  is  sure,  for  adding  a 
few  buds,  however  homely  may  be  their  genus,  to  a  bouquet 
otherwise  beautiful,  yet  too  small  for  the  vase  without  them. 
Leaving  this  allusion,  he  would  adopt  in  part  the  sentiment  of 
Richard  Steele,  in  some  lines  prefixed  to  Addison's  "  Tragedy 
of  Cato." 

"  Forgive  the  fond  ambition  of  a  friend, 
Who  seeks  himself,  not  you,  to  recommend  : 
Soon  would  that  die,  which  adds  thy  name  to  mine ; 
Let  me  then  live  joined  to  a  work  of  thine.'7 

But  he  sincerely  deprecates  the  severity  of  criticism  in  this, 
as  in  the  former,  part  of  the  little  volume.  He  knows  nothing 
of  poetry  as  an  art ;  and  perhaps  he  hazards  too  much  upon 
the  kindness  of  the  public.  He  recollects,  indeed,  to  have 
seen  in  a  treatise  on  the  Poetic  Art, 

"  Omne  tulit  punctum,  qui  miscuit  utile  dulci, 
Lectorem  delectando,  pariterque  monendo." 

And  he  has  the  satisfaction  of  believing,  that,  in  the  case  of 
the  forbearing,  if  he  does  not  please  by  presenting  what  is 
agreeable,  he  may  at  least  instruct,  by  presenting  what  is 
useful.  The  tendency  of  the  preceding  Remains  is  to  recom 
mend  and  confirm  a  religious  character:  the  tendency  of  the 
following  collection,  it  is  hoped,  is  similar.  It  may  happen, 
that,  from  their  connexion  with  the  previous  portion  of  the 
book,  these  Addenda  will  obtain  more  readers  than  they  would 
without  such  support ;  still,  in  this  event,  the  Editor  will  be 
the  gainer,  while  his  companion  can  lose  nothing  by  the  con 
trast.  May  the  book  not  only  gratify  curiosity,  if  indeed  it  be 
allowed  to  elicit  any  attention,  but,  also,  through  the  blessing 
of  GOD,  be  a  mean  of  holiness  to  the  reader. 


TO 

THE  REVEREND  BIRD  WILSON,  D.  D. 

AND    TO 

THE   REVEREND  SAMUEL  H.    TURNER,  D.  D., 

PROFESSORS    IN    THE    GENERAL    THEOLOGICAL    SEMINARY 
OF   THE   PROTESTANT   EPISCOPAL    CHURCH   IN    THE  UNITED    STATES 

WHO  WERE  FRIENDS  OF  THE  LAMENTED  LYDE ; 

FOR  WHOSE  GENEROUS  HOSPITALITIES, 

AND   PATIENT   INSTRUCTION, 

AND   CHRISTIAN   COUNSEL, 
THE    EDITOR   ALSO    IS   VERY   LARGELY    INDEBTED, 

THESE    ADDENDA 

ARE   RESPECTFULLY   INSCRIBED, 

AS    A    SLIGHT    TOKEN 

OF   THE    GRATITUDE    AND    AFFECTION 
OF 

T.  H.  V. 


"  Thou  simple  lyre !  thy  music  wild 
Has  served  to  charm  the  weary  hour, 

Yet,  oh  my  lyre !  the  busy  crowd 
Will  little  heed  thy  simple  tones  : 
Them  mightier  minstrels  harping  loud 
Engrossj 

>  . 

No  hand,  thy  diapason  o'er, 
Well-skilled,  I  throw  with  sweep  sublime ; 
For  me,  no  academic  lore 
Has  taught  the  solemn  strain  to  pour, 
Or  build  the  polished  rhyme." 

H.  K.  WHITE. 


ADDENDA. 


OUR  LIFE. 

"  Our  days  on  the  earth  are  as  a  shadow,"  —  !  CHRON.  xxix.  15. 

"  All  flesh  is  grass,  and  all  the  goodliness  thereof  is  as  the  flower  of  the  field." 
—  ISAIAH,  xl.  6. 

"  For  what  is  your  life  ?  It  is  even  a  vapor,  that  appoareth  for  a  little  time 
and  then  vanisheth  away."  —  ST.  JAMES,  iv.  14. 

OUR  Life  is  but  a  vapor,  for  a  time 

Appearing,  and  then  vanishing  away; 
A  flower,  that  soon  upstarteth  to  its  prime, 

Shineth,  and  withereth,  in  one  short  day. 
Our  Life  is  nothing  in   eternity, 

An  only  point  in  perfect  plenitude, 
A  dream,  compared  with  all  reality, 

A  thought,  that  flasheth  past,  and  doth  elude 
The  mind  itself,  so  transient  is  its  light. 

Life  is  a  moment  in  time's  hurried  stay, 
An  hour  that  's  measured,  in  the  ceaseless  flight 

Of  years,  that  have  no  spring  and  no  decay. 
Yet  Life,  so  fleeting,  holds  within  its  span, 

An  endless  life  of  joy  or  endless  woe. 
Oh  GOD  of  life  !    give  life  to  dying  man, 

Give  us  the  living  joys  that  from  thy  presence  flow. 


84 


THE  FAREWELL  OF  REPENTANCE. 

LINES   SUGGESTED   BY  THE  FOLLOWING   REMARK    OF    ROWLAND 
HILL,  (LIFE  BY  SIDNEY.) 

"  If  I  may  be  permitted  to  drop  one  tear,  as  I  enter  the  portals  of  the  city 
of  my  GOD,  it  will  be  at  taking  an  eternal  leave  of  that  beloved  and  profitable 
companion,  Repentance," 

"  And  GOD  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  their  eyes  ;  and  there  shall  be 
no  more  death,  neither  sorrow,  nor  crying,  neither  shall  there  be  any  more  pain  ; 
for  the  former  things  are  passed  away."  — REV.  xxi.  4. 

MY  fight  of  faith  is  fought,* 

My  course  is  finished  now  ; 
The  righteous  crown,  which  Jesus  bought, 
Is  waiting  for  my  brow. 

My  toil  is  done, 
My  triumph  won  ; 

The  pearled  portals  flashing  bright,! 
The  holy  city's  towering  height, 
And  GOD'S  grand  throne  of  glorious  light, 
My  raptured  soul  to  bliss  invite  ; 

My  fight  is  fought  ! 

My  life,  safe  hid,  I  see, 

In  GOD,  with  CHRIST  my  Head,J 

*  2  Tim.  iv.  7,  8.  "I  have  fought  a  good  fight,  I  have  finished  my 
course,  I  have  kept  the  faith  ;  henceforth  there  is  laid  up  for  me  a  crown 
of  righteousness,  which  the  LORD,  the  righteous  Judge,  shall  give  me  at 
that  day :  and  not  to  me  only,  but  unto  all  them  also  that  love  his  ap 
pearing.'7 

t  Rev.  xxi.  21. 

J  Col.  iii.  3.  "  For  ye  are  dead,  and  your  life  is  hid  (kept  in  perfect 
security)  with  CHRIST  in  GOD." 


THE  FAREWELL  OF  REPENTANCE.  85 

My  crown,  henceforth  laid  up  for  me 
Until  that  day  of  dread. 

No  finite  arm 
My  crown  can  harm ; 
Oh,  when  that  judgment  day  shall  come, 
The  worlds  all  wrapt  in  shrouding  gloom, 
While  sinners  wail  their  woful  doom, 
My  soul  shall  rest  in  heaven,  my  home  ; 
My  crown  I  see  ! 

Once  from  my  Heavenly  King 
I  strayed  in  sin  and  shame, 
A  weary,  worn,  and  wretched  thing,* 
Till  kind  Repentance  came. 

Through  dreary  years, 
He  saw  my  tears, 

And  drew  me,  with  love's  magic  cord,| 
Back  to  my  gracious  King  adored  ; 
Oh  !    sad  indeed  the  parting  word, 
Save  to  be  ever  with  the  LORD,J 

My  Heavenly  King  ! 

"  But  ah  !    beloved  friend, 

Thy  memory  I  will  keep  ; 
Thou  'st  blessed  me  to  my  journey's  end, 
And  my  sad  heart   will  weep, 

*  "A  wandering,  weary,  worn,  and  wretched  thing, 
Scorched,  and  desolate,  and  blasted  soul, 
A  gloomy  wilderness  of  dying  thought."  —  POLLOK. 
t  Hosea  xi.  G.  J  1  Thess.  iv.  17. 

8 


86  THE  FAREWELL  OF  REPENTANCE. 

Repentance  dear, 
One  parting  tear  ; 

These  everlasting  portals  shine, 

With  radiant  beauty  all  divine  ; 

Yet  here,  beloved  companion  mine, 

This  token  of  my  love  is  thine  ; 

Farewell,  my  friend  ! 

"  Is  it  a  last  farewell  ? 

Eternal  leave  I  take  ? 
My  yearning  love  this  tear  will  tell, 
T  is  offered  for  thy  sake  ; 

Friend  of  my  heart, 
Here  we  must  part  ! 

I  thought  that  thou  from  God  wert  given,* 
An  angel  watch,  where  guilt  has  striven, 
To  soothe  the  anguished  spirit  riven  ; 
Wilt  thou  not  ever  enter  heaven  ? 

Sweet  friend,  farewell  !  " 
*        *         *        *        * 

Jerusalem,  the  Bride, 

The  holy  city,  shone, 
In  heavenly  light's  expansive  tide, 
Like  precious  jasper  stone  ;  | 

An  angel  guard 
Held  watch  and  ward 

At  twelve  high  gates,  twelve  pearls  in  all  ;  J 
Garnished  with  precious  stones,  and  tall, 

*  2  Tim.  ii.  25.  t  Rev.  xxi.  9-11.  J  Rev.  xxi.  12,  21. 


THE  FAREWELL  OF  REPENTANCE.  87 

On  twelve  foundations  stood  the  wall, 
Whose  names  the  twelve  Apostles  call.* 
The  holy  Bride  ! 

GOD  and  THE  LAMB  its  light,  | 

Effulgent,  clear,  serene  ! 
Dimmed  not  by  storm  nor  darksome  night,  J 
That  city's  crystal  sheen ! 

Nor  beam  nor  ray, 
But  boundless  day, 
Diffusive,  filled  the  hallowed  air, 
And  filled  the  crystal  waters  fair ;  § 
The  gates  ne'er  shut  to  saint  nor  prayer,  || 
Earth's  kings  and  nations  ransomed  share  IT 
That  living  light. 

I  saw  no  temple  there, 

No  sun,  nor  moon,  nor  star ; 
GOD  and  THE  LAMB  its  temple  were, 
Their  glory  gleamed  afar ;  ** 

And,   'mid  the  place, 
Their  throne  of  grace, ft 
Ineffable,  majestic,  grand, 

Whence  flowed  adown,  o'er  diamond  sand, JJ 
The  stream  of  life  ;    on  either  hand 
The  tree  of  life  embowered  the  land  ;  §§ 

The  saved  walked  there  !  |||| 

*  Rev.  xxi.  14.        f  Rev.  xxi.23.        \  Rev.  xxi.  25.        §  Rev.  xxii.  1. 
||  Rev.  xxi.  25.  H  Rev.  xxi.  24.  **  Rev.  xxi.  22;  23. 

ft  Rev.  xxii.  3.  "  The  throne  of  the  heavenly  grace.'7  —  Common  Prayer. 
Heb.  iv.  16. 
tt  Rev.  xxii.  1.  §§  Rev.  xxii.  2.  II II  Rev.  xxi.  24. 


88  THE  FAREWELL  OF  REPENTANCE. 

The  city  of  my  GOD  ! 

The  new  Jerusalem  !  * 
Along  its  golden  street  I  trod,  t 
And  wore  my  diadem, 

With  jewelled  lyre 
And  white  attire  ; 
And  near  me  walked  a  holy  one  ; 
Gems  sparkled  from  his  virgin  zone  ;  J 
He  led  me  to  the  ancient  throne, 
And  taught  my  praise  with  seraph  tone, 
Glory  to  GOD  ! 

"  Far  from  these  scenes  must  thou, 

My  friend,  for  ever  stay? 
Here   by  this  dazzling  throne  I  bow, 
And  thou  art  far  away ! 

Without  yon  gates 
Repentance  waits  ! 

Thou  didst  reprove  me  when  I  strayed, 
And  warned  me  trembling  and  afraid, 
And,  kneeling  by  me  when  I  prayed, 
Taught  me  my  precious  ransom  paid  ! 
Oh,  where  art  thou  ?  " 

Then,  well-remembered,  smiled, 
And  spake  that  seraph  guide, 
"  GOD   sent  Repentance  to  his  child, 
Love's  voice  is  by  thy  side  ; 

That  garb  of  woe, 
Which  mourners  know,  § 

*  Rev.  xxi.  2.        f  Rev.  xxi.  21.          t  Rev.  xv.  6.         $  Job  xlii.  6. 


THE  FAREWELL  OF  REPENTANCE.  89 

Did  angels  at  yon  gates  remove,* 
And  gave  these   robes  with  gems  inwove ;  — 
Thy  friend  below  still  lives  with  thee  above, 
Repentance  on  the  earth  in  heaven  is  Love, 
Thy  seraph  guide." 

O  sinner  !    now  repent, 

Turn  from  thy  hateful  sin  ;  — 
Woe,  woe  will  srnite  the  impenitent  : 
This  very  day  begin  ;  — 

Probation  wastes, 
The  judgment  hastes  ; 

If  thou  wouldst  know  Love's  rapturous  power, 
Give  GOD  thy  heart,  Love's  choicest  dower;  — 
If  thou  wouldst   smile  in  death's  dim  hour, 
Or  when  dread  glooms  of  judgment  lower, 
Sinner,  repent  ! 

*  Rev.  xxi.  27. 


90 
THE  WIDOW. 

"Plead  for  the  widow."—  ISAIAH,  i.  17. 

I  VENERATE  the  widow,  when  her  head 

Is  white  with  years  and  sorrow  for  the  dead  ; 

Her  GOD  has  called  himself  the  widow's  friend,  * 

Her  GOD  is  mine,  —  before  his  throne  I  bend. 

The   widow  !    holy  name  !    one   loved  of  GOD, 

Loved  most  when  most  she  weeps  beneath  his  rod ! 

The  widow  !    JESUS  loved  her,  raised  her  son  ; 

The   same  was  erst  by  old  Elijah  done. 

The  widow  !    holiest  name  !   her  name,  who  bare 

"  The  word  made  flesh,"   and  gave  GOD'S  child  her 

care  !  | 

Close  by  his  cross,  the  virgin-mother  stood, 
Whence   streamed   her  Son   and    Saviour's   precious 

blood  ; 

He  felt  the  world's  sin  press  his  burdened  head,  J 
Yet  saw  the  tears  the   aged  widow  shed  : 
"Woman,  behold  thy  son,"  his  mother  heard; 
"Behold  thy  mother,"  was  his  parting  word  ; 
From  that  hour  that  disciple  bade  her  come, 
And  dwell  with  him,  her  son,  in  his  own  home.  § 


*  Exod.  xxii.  22.     Deut.  x.  18. 

t  St.  John's  Gospel,  i.  14.    Acts  iv.  27.     \  Levit.  xvi.  21.    2  Cor.  v.  21. 

§  St.  John's  Gospel,  xix.  25-27.  "Now  there  stood  by  the  cross  of 
JESUS,  his  mother,  and  his  mother's  sister,  Mary  the  wife  of  Cleophas,  and 
Mary  Magdalene.  When  JESUS,  therefore,  saw  his  mother,  and  the  dis 
ciple  standing  by,  whom  he  loved,  he  saith  unto  his  mother,  Woman,  behold 


SONNET.  9 1 

O  LORD  !   I  love  the  widow  for  thy  sake  ! 
To  thine  own  love  my  widowed  mother  take  ! 


SONNET. 

NIGHT'S  stillness  hangs  around  ;   above, 
The  moon  and  starry  multitude, 
Sparkling  on  mountain,  wave,  and  wood, 

In  paths  of  brilliant  beauty  move, 
Emblems  of  peace  and  purity, 
Far  o'er  the  wild,  polluted  sea 
Of  mortal  sin  and  misery  :  — 

In  this  calm  hour  I  humbly  send 

My  anxious  thoughts  to  search  the  still 
And  hidden  workings  of  my  will  ; 

Before  GOD'S  piercing  eye  I  bend, 
To  note  my  secret  sins  ;   and  try 
My  faith  in  Him,  who  left  his  high 
And  holy  heaven  for  me  to  die. 


thy  son  !    Then  saith  he  to  the  disciple,  Behold  thy  mother !    And  from 
that  hour  that  disciple  took  her  unto  his  own  home." 


92 


THE  UNIVERSAL  SYMPATHY. 

LINES    ADDRESSED    TO    A    YOUNG   FRIEND. 

"The  very  hairs  of  your  head  are  all  numbered."  — ST.  MATT.  x.  30. 

"  Take  heed  that  ye  despise  not  one  of  these  little  ones  ;  for  I  say  unto  you, 
that,  in  heaven,  their  angels  do  always  hehold  the  face  of  my  Father  which  is 
in  heaven."  —  MATT,  xviii.  10. 

"  Are  they  not  all  ministering  spirits  sent  forth  to  minister  to  them  who  shall 
be  heirs  of  salvation  ?  "  —  HEB.  i.  14. 

"He  is  able  to  succour  them  that  are  tempted." —  HEB.  ii.  18. 

"We  are  compassed  about  with  so  great  a  cloud  of  witnesses,"—  HEB.  xii.  1. 

PART    I. 

I   SLEPT  by  the   sound  of  streams, 
I  drank  of  the  dew  of  dreams. 

Far,  on  the  stretching  sand, 

Before  a  wood, 

That  decked  a  little  ocean  isle, 
From  all  the  world  full  many  a  mile, 

Methought  I  stood, 
Beside  that  distant  strand. 

This  shining  sea  ! 
Its  waves  agree 
To  mock  at  me, 
They  play  so  free, 
Then  flashing  flee 
To  hide  their  glee. 


THE  UNIVERSAL  SYMPATHY.  93 

I  envy  thee, 
Thou  shining  sea ! 

Who,  who  would  rear  his  narrow  cot, 
Above  some  still  and  lonely  spot, 
With  none  to  bless  his  life, 

Or  whom  his  life  may  bless, 
With  brooding  misery  rife, 
Where  words  of  those  he  loves  may  never  reach  his 

ear, 
Where  human  sympathies  his  heart  may  never  cheer  ? 

No  more,  no  more 
Shall  I  pass  o'er 
These  waves,  that  pour 
Their  billowy  store 
Along  the  shore. 
I  hear  the  roar 
Of  surges  hoar, 
"No  more,  no  more." 

W^ho,  who  would  choose  his  woful  lot 
Within  some  dark  and  dismal  grot, 
Cast  off  from  all  his  kind, 

A  cold  and  passionless 
And  solitary  mind, 

Unfeeling,  selfish,  stern,  without  hope,  without  fear, 
A  stranger  from  his  race,  a  man  without  a  tear  ? 

Alone,  alone, 

Wide  waters  bind 
Me  in  their  zone  ; 


94  THE  UNIVERSAL  SYMPATHY. 

In  mournful  tone 

Low  wails  the  wind, 
"Alone,  alone." 


PART    II. 


MIDNIGHT  had  come  in  sable  storm  and  gloom  ; 
Moveless  I  stood  spell-bound  in  that  drear  doom. 

I  looked  upon  the  lonely  flood, 

So  vastly  spread, 
I  looked  upon  the  lonely  wood, 

So  darkly  dread, 
With  throbbing  heart  and  burning  eye, 

And  felt  the   sharp  distress, 
The  pang  and  sickening   agony, 

Of  utter  loneliness. 
I  gazed ;   and  now  a  sound, 

A  solemn,  slow,  unearthly  air, 
Arose,   and   shed   around 

Its  strain  of  heavenly  music  there. 

Oh  Music  !    power  mysterious  ! 
Whence   are  thy  measures  moving  thus  ? 
Streams  from  the   spirit-sea  of  heaven  ; 
Winds  from  its  spirit-breezes  driven  ; 
Now  flowing  in  their  course   so  mildly  ; 
Now  blowing  in  their  force  so  wildly  ? 


THE  UNIVERSAL  SYMPATHY.  95 

That  heavenly  strain  ! 

While   lightnings  sweep 
The  lurid  sky, 

And  thunders  leap 

From  steep  to  steep, 

Where  tempests  heap 
The  waves  on  high, 
It  casts  its  chain 
Upon  the  main  :  — 

The  waters  sleep. 

Oh  Music  !    thou,   with  soothing  balm, 
The  bursting,  aching  heart  canst  calm  ; 
Thy  power  the  wildest  grief  can  spell, 
As  drops  of  oil  wild   waters  quell  ; 
And  fiercest  passions  of  the  soul 
Are   subject  to  thy  mild  control. 

That  heavenly  strain  ! 

Their  silent  sleep 

The  waters  keep. 

And  from  the  deep 

Now  softly  creep 
Those  sounds  again, — 
As  summer  rain, 
In  sportive  vein, 
Steals  o'er  the  plain, 
When  the  gay  swain 

Will  harvests  reap 
Of  golden  grain  ; 

The  isle-woods  weep, 

They  sigh,  they  sleep. 


96  THE  UNIVERSAL  SYMPATHY. 

Oh  Music  !    from  life's  cup  of  pain 

Its  dregs  of  misery  thou   canst  drain  ; 

Thine   influence,   sacred  and  sublime, 

Sheds  heaven's  own  peace  through  anxious  time  ; 

Thrice  wretched  they,  who  may  not  know 

Thy  joyous  rest,  thy  blissful  glow  ! 

That  heavenly  strain  ! 
It  binds  the  isle, 

It  binds  the  sea, 
To  slumber  lain, 
In  one  sweet  smile, 
With  its  strong  wile 
Of  harmony. 

Oh  Music  !  thy  own  home  is  far  — 

On  high  beyond  the  farthest  star  ; 

Where  heaven's  grand  temple  rears  its  dome, 

Thou  hast  in  crystal  courts  thy  home  ; 

Where  none  but  angel  hosts  have  trod, 

Thou  tun'st  their  harps  to  worship  GOD  ! 

That  heavenly  strain  ! 

It  seemed  to  fill 
The  wind  so  bland, 

The  wave  so  still, 
The  woody  land  ;  — 
As  if  some  unseen  band, 
Along  their  numerous  train 

Of  countless  lyres, 
Had  swept,  with  seraph  hand, 


THE  UNIVERSAL  SYMPATHY.  97 

From  golden  wires, 
Their  chords  of  richest  melody, 
Round  all  the  blue  depths  of  the  bending  sky. 

Oh  Music  !  by  the  holiest  shrine 

Thou  serv'st,  where  GODHEAD'S  glories  shine  ! 

Yet,  sometimes,  straying  symphonies, 

Faint  echoes  from  the  upper  skies, 

A  straggling  note,  a  broken  trill, 

We  catch,  and  feel  the  unwonted  thrill. 

That  heavenly  strain  !  that  heavenly  strain  ! 

It  passed  upon  my  heated  brain, 

Like  some  cool  breeze  of  summer,  blown 

From  beds  where  perfume-flowers  are  strown, 

So  blissful  swelled  its  angel  tone  ; 

And  strange  and  holy  joys  flowed  fast, 

And  freshening  thoughts  with  sudden  start, 
Like  springing  memories  of  the  past, 

From  secret  fountains  of  the  heart. 

Oh  Music  !  mortals  may  not  bear 
The  sounds  which  holy  spirits  hear  ; 
To  this  low  world  they  may  not  bring 
The  choral  psalm  they  ever  sing  :  — 
Yet  earthly  music  is  from  heaven, 
A  type  of  love  to  mortals  given: 


Ceased  the  unearthly  air  ;  — 
And  then  a  low  and  liquid  voice, 
9 


98  THE   UNIVERSAL  SYMPATHY. 

Like  that  of  gentle  woman,  brake, 
Like  woman's  voice  in  prayer, 
Upon  the  stillness  there  ; 

And  these  the  precious  words  it  spake, 
"  Mortal,  no  more  alone,  rejoice, 
Friends  bid  thee  not  despair." 

And  then  a  sudden  radiance  rose, 

And  spread  around  its  dazzling  charm, 

And  splendor  tinged  the  height, 
And  poured  upon  my  heart  its  warm 

And  thrilling  beams  of  light,  — 
More  brilliant  than  the  brilliant  close 
Of  some  long  sunny  summer  day, 
Yet  softer  than  its  last  soft  ray. 

And  then  there  came  a  blessed  form, 

Forth  to  my  ravished  sight, 
Of  high,  immortal  grace  and  mien,  — 
Like  that  by  woman's  beauty  worn 

In  her  first  pride  of  life  and  love, 
Or  that  by  sainted  woman  borne 

In  fadeless  purity  above,  — 
Amid  the  wonder  of  the  scene, 

From  out  that  radiance  bright, 
And  smiled  ;  —  as  sunrise  on  the  storm 

Steeps  the  black  clouds  with  glorious  dyes, 
It  turned  my  woes  to  ecstasies  ;  — 
And  on  her  murmuring  harp-strings  rang 
Low  tender  notes  and  clear, 
And  to  my  raptured  ear 
Celestial  comfort  sweetly  sang. 


THE  UNIVERSAL  SYMPATHY.  99 

"  Alone  !  oh  no  !  thou  3rt  not  alone  ; 
The  chain,  that  passes  from  GOD'S  throne, 
Through  the  broad  universe  extends. 
And  his  entire  creation  blends, 
And  binds  in  one  great  commonweal 
Of  minds  that  think  and  hearts  that  feel. 
Held  by  the  unbroken  sympathy, 
None  to  himself  may  live,  none  die  ; 
Thy  sorrows  other  bosoms  shake, 
Thy  joys  responsive  joys  awake. 
Oh  no  !  thou  'rt  not  alone,  for  now 
What  hosts  of  mercy  round  thee  bow  ! 
All  ministering  spirits  they, 
For  ever  waiting  to  obey, 
Sent  from  thy  Father's  home  of  day, 
Thy  hopes  to  raise,  thy  faith  to  stay  !  " 

Her  harp  the  angel  hushed, 

And  hushed  her  song  ;  — 
And  once  again, 
From  unseen  fingers  rushed 

Distinct  and  long, 
That  heavenly  strain, 
Then  breathed  itself  upon  the  breeze  away. 


PART    III. 


I  slept  by  the  sound  of  streams, 
I  drank  of  the  dew  of  dreams  ; 


100  THE  UNIVERSAL  SYMPATHY. 

But  the  streams  are  dead, 

And  my  dreams  are  fled  ; 

Then  listen,  bright  girl,  I  '11  teach  thy  youth 

A  simple  lesson  of  sober  truth. 

The  leaf,  which  autumn  blasts  have  torn 

So  roughly  from  the  tree, 
Will  wither,  and  will  die,  forlorn, 

In  need  of  sympathy. 

The  rose,  when  broken  from  the  vine, 
Without  its  fragrant  bowers, 

Will  sicken,  droop,  and  dying  pine 
For  its  loved  sister-flowers. 

The  brook,  that  carols  blithe  and  free, 

And  dances  on  its  course, 
Will  fail  and  sink  upon  the  lea, 

If  parted  from  its  source. 

The  bird,  that  warbles  all  his  age, 

From  early  morn  till  late, 
Will  moan  and  perish  in  the  cage, 

Far  from  his  chosen  mate. 

So  hearts,  which  woe  may  rudely  wring 
From  hearts  for  which  they  sigh, 

Where  all  their  fond  affections  cling, 
Will  break,  and  bleed,  and  die. 

GOD'S  creatures  live  to  sympathize, 
One  social  tide  bears  all ; 


THE  UNIVERSAL  SYMPATHY.  101 

With  every  joy  that  tide  will  rise, 
With  every  sorrow  fall. 

And  thou,  dear  child,  just  stepping  in  the  road, 

Which  all  must  tread,  urged  on  by  time's  keen  goad, 

Thou  too  mayst  suffer  the  intense  desire, 

Which,  unappeased,  will  scorch  the  soul  like  fire, 

The  yearning  spirit's  want,  which  strives  to  find, 

Where  to  repose,  some  sympathizing  mind. 

By  nature's  deathless  law,  thou  too  mayst  know, 

How  bitter  are  the  lonely  tears,  which  flow, 

When  the  heart  stricken  looks  for  some  to  lend 

Its  kindly  love,  but  seeks  in  vain  a  friend. 

All  hearts  were  made  to  each  reciprocal, 

All  give  their  love,  each  needs  the  love  of  all  : 

The  things  which  most  we  need,  we  value  best, 

And  man,  so  weak,  needs  most  a  place  of  rest, 

And  counts  his  brother's  love  of  chiefest  worth, 

Because  in  this  he  rests  alone  on  earth  ; 

Thus  sympathy  surrounds  and  ties  all  hearts, 

And  highest  happiness  to  each  imparts. 

Then  think,  my  friend,  if  death  thy  home  shall  smite, 

Or  sickness  seize  thee,  or  disaster  blight, 

That  souls,  which  love  thee  here,  shall  still  attend, 

And  ministering  spirits  GOD  will  send, 

To  soothe  life's  anxious  journey  to  its  end, 

And  o'er  thy  dying  pillow  smiling  bend. 

Rest  in  the  SON  OF  GOD, 
High  sympathy's  exhaustless  fount  ; l 

lHeb.  ii.  9  — 18.  Heb.  iv.  1,9. 


102  THE  UNIVERSAL  SYMPATHY. 

He  sll  shield  thee  in  affliction's  storm  ; 2 
And  thou  shalt  wear  an  angel's  form,  3 
And  stand  on  heavenly  Zion's  mount,4 

With  jewelled  sandals  shod,  5 
Clothed  with  white  robes,  and  wave  thy  palm, 6 
And  celebrate  the  holy  arm, 7 

By  which  thy  victory  's  won,  8 
And  dwell  for  ever  in  GOD'S  sight,9 
And  sound  thy  golden  harp,  with  harpers  harping 

loud, 10 
In  new  Jerusalem,  where  floats  no  darkening  cloud,11 

Where  shines  no  moon  nor  sun, 12 
And  where  shall  never  more  be  night, 13 
And  where  the  ALMIGHTY'S  glory  and  THE  LAMB  are 
its  eternal  light  ! 14 


APOSTROPHE  TO  MUSIC. 

OH  Music  !  thou,  with  constant  zeal, 
Our  friend  in  woe,  our  friend  in  weal ; 
Our  guest  sent  down  from  heaven  to  cheer 
This  lonely  earth  so  chill  and  drear  ; 
Thanks  for  the  spirit  of  thine  hour  ! 
I  love  thine  all-controlling  power  ! 

2  Isaiah  xli.  10.  xliii.  1,  2.  Heb.  xiii.  5,6.  31  Cor.  xv.  42  —  44,  49,  55. 
4  Rev.  xiv.l.  5  Isaiah  Ixi.  10.  6  Rev.  vii.  9.  7  Luke  i.  51.  8  Psalm  xcviii. 
1.  1  Cor.  xv.  57.  9  Rev.  xiv.  5.  xxii.  4.  w  Rev.  xiv.  2,  3.  "  Rev.  xxi.  2, 
10,11-  w  Rev.  xxi.  23.  is  Rev.  xxii.  5.  14  Rev.  xxi.  23. 


103 


MUSIC. 


1  All  thy  works  shall  praise  thee,  oh  LORD, 
And  thy  saints  shall  bless  thee." 

Ps.  cxlv.  10. 


THERE  's  music  in  the  sullen  roar 
Of  wild  waves  dashing  on  the  shore ; 
There  's  music  in  the  peaceful  sleep 
Of  ocean's  waters  calm  and  deep. 

There's  music  in  the   angry  cry 
Of  tempests  struggling  through  the  sky  ; 
There  's  music  in  the  plaintive  wail 
Of  spirits  on  the  summer  gale. 

There  's  music  in  the  flashings  fast 
Of  lightnings  battling  on  the  blast  ; 
There  's  music  in  the  fearful  rest 
Of  thunders  on  the  mountain's  crest. 

There  's  music  in  the  mingled  light 
Of  bursting  meteors  blazing  bright  ; 
There's  music  in  the  lofty  lay 
Of  worlds  that  hold  their  ceaseless  way. 

There  's  music  in  the  song  of  love 
Of  young  birds  warbling  in  the  grove  ; 
There  's  music  in  the  holy  care 
Of  guardian  angels  pure  and  fair. 


104  A  SENTIMENTAL  SONNET. 

In  music  each  created  thing 
The  honors  of  its  GOD  doth  sing  ; 
The  courts  of  heaven  with  music  ring, 
"  All  glory  to  the  Eternal  King  !  " 


A  SENTIMENTAL  SONNET. 

No  HOME  !    no  home  !    Would  I  might  weep ! 

But  loneliness  refuses  tears, 

It  burns  upon  the  brain  and  sears  :  — 
Now  untold  sorrows  saddening  steep 
My  soul  ;  —  heavy  and  fast  they  come  ! 

Oh  that  I  had  a  friend,  —  one  friend,  — 

On  whom  to  rest,  —  and  who  would  tend, 
Within  his  heart,  my  friendship's  home, 

The  gift  of  friendship  safe,  —  and  keep, 
With  pure   and  pious  care,  the  love, 

Which  I  would  give,  —  and,  with  a  deep 
And  sacred  sympathy,  approve 

The  struggling  thoughts  my  heart  would  lend  ! 

No  home  !    Oh  that  I  had  a  friend  ! 


105 


THE  CHRISTIAN  PILGRIM'S  PASS-WORD.* 

"  For  we  are  strangers  before  thee,  and  sojourners,  as  were  all  our  fathers." 
—  1  CHRON.  xxix.  15. 

"  There  romaineth  therefore  a  rest  for  the  people  of  GOD."—  HEB.  iv.  9. 

"  These  all   confessed   that  they  were  strangers    and  pilgrims   on   the  earth. 
They  desire  a  better  country,  that  is,  an  heavenly."—  HEB.  xi.  13,  16. 

"For  here  have  we  no  continuing  city,  but  we  seek  one  to  come."  —  HEB. 
xiii.  14. 

"  Seek  ye  the  LORD,  while  he  may  bo  found  ;  call  ye  upon  him,  while  he  is 
near."  —  ISA.  Iv.  6. 

A  CHRISTIAN  pilgrim  held  his  lonely  way, 
His  cheeks  were  thin  and  pale,  his  locks  were  gray  ; 
Along  the  busy  world  he  moved  unknown, 
Amid  the  hurrying  crowd  he  moved  alone, 
And  none,  of  all  that  gay  and  careless  throng, 
Marked  the  poor  pilgrim  as  he  went  along. 
With  lingering  step  he  walked,  and  thoughtful  seemed, 
And  melting  pity  from  his  clear  eye  beamed, 
Arid  ever  and  anon  the  old  man  meek 
Would  pause  with  solemn  air,  as  if  to  speak, 
And  point  with  outstretched  arm  towards  the  sky, 
And  talk  of  God  —  the  soul  —  eternity, — 
Strange  jargon-speech,  and  stranger  dogmas  these, — 
While  onward  cheered  those  multitudes  at  ease, 
Or,  if  they  gazed  a  moment,  turned  away, 
Nor  cared  they  what  the  old  man  sought  to  say  ; 


*  Lines  addressed  to  a  young  friend.    Their  simplicity  and  irregular 
measure  will  be  pardoned,  as  appropriate  to  their  occasion. 


106         THE  CHRISTIAN  PILGRIM'S  PASS-WORD. 

Till,  from  a  merry-hearted  group  that  passed, 

A  gentle  girl,  of  all  the  group  the  last, 

To  where  the  pilgrim  bent  his  steps,  drew  near, 

And  marked  his  noble  brow  and  eye  so  clear,  — 

The  outward  emblems,  to  the  senses  brought, 

Of  pure  emotion  and  of  lofty  thought, — 

And  pitied  him  so  dignified  and  mild, 

And  on  the  way-worn  traveller  kindly  smiled. 

Thus  always,  when  he  met  that  pageant  gay, 

The  same  sweet  smile  would  bless  him,  day  by  day. 

Such  love  unwonted  touched  the  old  man's  heart, 

While  still  he  lingered  near  them,  loth  to  part  ; 

And  often,  when  he  watched  that  child  so  fair, 

He  offered  up  his  silent,  anxious  prayer, 

That  GOD  would  lead  her  to  the  Saviour's  fold, 

And  save  her  with  his  chosen  ones  enrolled  ; 

And  sometimes  he  would  murmur,  musingly, 

This  burden  of  his  strange  soliloquy. 

"  Sorrow  intense, 

With  pleasure  blending, 
A  mystic  sense, 

Is  ever  bending, 
With  magic  power, 
Upon  its  flight, 
The  passing  hour, 

Like  maiden  tending, 
Within  her  bower, 
Some  feeble  flower, 

Or  vine-stem  slight. 


THE  CHRISTIAN  PILGRIM'S  PASS- WORD.  107 

Why  should  such  sadness  creep 
E'en  through  my  dreamy  sleep  ? 
Why  should  such  gladness  light 
My  visions  of  the  night  ? 
Sadness  and  gladness  twine 
Around  that  form  of  thine  ; 
And  grief  and  joy  combine 
Within  this  heart  of  mine." 

He  thought  of  worldly  hopes  long  perished  all, 
Of  loved  ones  mouldered  'neath  the  mouldered  pall, 
Of  cherished  beauty  buried,  friendships  fled, 
Once   all  his  own,  now  gathered  with  the  dead  ; 
Heart-hallowed  thoughts,  reviving  fresh  and  fast, 
Pleasant  and  mournful  memories  of  the  past,  * 
And  thus,  in  answer  to  himself,  unheard, 
Pursued  his  earnest,  meditative  word. 

"  Thou  canst  not  tell,  gay  child  ; 
Thy  spirit  mild 
Knows  not  the  wild 
And  wayward  workings  of  the  heart, 
When  quickly  called  to  part 
With  those  whose  love, 
To  scenes  above, 
Life  's  weary  way  beguiled  ; 
Round  thee  the  Syren  world  hath  smiled  ; 
Thou  hast  not  felt  the  smart, 

*  Ossian. 


108          THE  CHRISTIAN  PILGRIM'S  PASS- WORD. 

The  dreadful  start, 

The  sudden  dart, 

Of  piercing  anguish  rudely  driven, 
When  hopes  are  rent,  and  hearts  are  riven  !  " 

Nor  were  his  thoughts  alone  of  these,  the  lost  ; 
He  would  not  call  them  back,  to  have  them  tossed 
Upon  the  surge  and  'mid  the  woes  of  time  ; 
They  rested  evermore  in  heaven's  soft  clime. 
He   thought   of  her,   the   living,  tempted  now, 
And   feared,  lest   sin  should  write  upon  her  brow 
Its  lines  of  guilt   and  wretchedness   and  want. 
He  longed,   he   hoped,  that  her  young   heart  might 

pant 

For  bliss   immortal  in  the   Holy  Land, 
For  life   and   blessedness  at   GOD'S   right   hand, 
And   constantly   occasion   sacred   sought 
To  teach  her  heart  the   wisdom  JESUS   taught ; 
Till,  taking   license  from  her  smiling   face, 
He  thus   accosted  her  with  courteous  grace. 

"  Now,   gentle   girl, 

I   gladly   greet  thee, 
While  in  this  weary  world  I   roam  ; 
Thou  gentle   girl, 

I  sadly  meet  thee, 
Still  stranger  from  my  distant   home." 

"  I  thank  thee,  father,  for  thy  greeting  kind," 
The  gentle  girl  replied,  with  mien  refined. 


THE   CHRISTIAN  PILGRIM'S  PASS- WORD.  109 

"  But  why  sojournest  thou  a  stranger  here  ? 
Hast  thou  no  friend  to  bid  thee  to  his  cheer  ? 
What  leads  thee,  father,  in  our  land  to  roam, 
Away  from  home  ?     Where  is  thy  distant  home  ?  " 

"  My  home  !  "  the    pilgrim   said,   «  I   have  no  home 

on  earth  ;  — 
Nor  would  I  rest  me  here,  —  earth  cannot  rest  the 

soul. 

Long  since,  an  orphan  boy,  I  left  the  happy  hearth, 
Where,  'mid  parental  cares,  my  childhood  smoothly 

stole  ;  — 
Then  joyed  and  mourned,  where  smiled  my  manhood's 

hours,  and  died. 

My  home  !    GOD   grant  me   grace  to  gain  the   pil 
grim's  goal, 

That  's  fixed  in  holy  heaven.     I  have  no  home  beside. 
The  few  and  fleeting  joys  are  gone,  which  earth 

can  dole. 
My  home  !  '  a  rest  remains  '  for  those  whom  GOD  hath 

tried. 

My  home  is  in  the  dwelling  of  <  the   SPIRIT  and  the 
Bride.'" 

"  But,  father,"  asked  the  reverent  girl  again, 
"  Why  does  my  laughing  presence  give  thee  pain  ? 
Thou  scannest  sorrows  in  my  coming  years  ; 
Father,  my  heart  grows  weak  with  trembling  fears. 
Hast  thou  the  secrets  of  futurity  ? 
1 1  sadly  meet  thee,'  was  thy  speech  to  me." 

10 


110          THE  CHRISTIAN  PILGRIM'S  PASS-WORD. 

The  old  man's  earnest  hope  was  now  fulfilled, 
And  he  might  teach  the  Gospel  truths  he  willed  ; 
To  point  her  to  the  CHRIST  no  longer  he  deferred, 
And  thus  he  spake  the  Christian  pilgrim's  passing-word. 

"  I  sadly  meet  thee,  gentle  girl  ! 
And  why  ?     Thus  strangely  too  I  always  meet, 
So  sad,  the  young  and  fairest  ones,  whose  sweet 

And  soft  tones  sing,  through  lips  of  pearl, 
My  blessed  welcome.     Yet  I  gladly  greet 

Their  joyous  presence  and  their  smile  so  bright, 
Till  testy  Time,  who  tarries  not,  too  fleet, 

Speeds  my  dull  step,  and  drives  me  from  their  sight. 

Thee  thus  I  meet  :  how  richly  curl 
Those  raven  ringlets  on  the  ivory  brow,  — 
The  dimpled,  blushing  cheeks,  —  the  neck  of  snow ! 
But  soon  will  fade  and  fall  this  sprightly  show." 

He  paused,  —  his  mind  a  moment  absent  strayed, 
To  abstract  thought,  from  his  address,  betrayed. 

61  On  this  new  blossom  comes  the  mortal  blight  ? 
Shall  death,  with  iron  hand,  this  beauty  smite  ? 
Within  its  winding  folds,  so  long  and  white, 

Shall  the  starched  shroud  this  beauty  furl  ? 
But  not  for  aye  :  —  a  morn,  with  heavenly  might, 
Will  break  in  glory  on  the  grave's  long  night,' 
And  shed  o'er  beauty  its  celestial  light. 
I  love  to  gaze  upon  that  lucid  glow 
Of  life  and  loveliness,  though  secret  flow 
The' tears  of  sadness  sometimes,  still  and  slow." 


THE  CHRISTIAN  PILGRIM'S  PASS-WORD.          Ill 

His  heart  with  strengthening  interest  imbued, 
With  feeling  tone  and  grave  impressive  mood, 
The  passing-word  the  old  man  now  renewed, 
And  thus  his  serious  counsel  straight  pursued. 

"  I  sadly  meet  thee,  gentle  girl  ! 
For  old  Experience  murmurs  in  my  ear, 
From  the  c  deep  past'  his  whisper-words  I  hear. 

'  Long  while  I  watched  the  wanton  whirl, 
Where  wastes  this  wicked  world  its  priceless  wealth 
Of  soul  and  precious  thought,  till  my  heart's  health 

Departed,  and  the  idle  twirl 
Of  vanities  made  dizzy  all  my  brain  : 
I  saw  that  men  immortal  strove  to  train 
Their  immortality  to  time  in  vain  ; 

And  deathless  spirits  sought  to  hurl 
Their  costly  gifts  of  GOD  in  death's  dark  wave, 
And  quench  the  spark  of  heaven  within  the  grave.' 

"  And  I  have  feared,  lest  the  vile 

And  haggard  Earth  should  lay  her  cold 
And  withered  hand,  in  murders  bold, 
Upon  thy  soul,  its  beauty  to  defile. 
I  tremble,  lest  her  touch  embase 

Thy  spirit,  stainless  now  and  pure, 
If  not  from  human  guilt,  from  guile, 
And  leave  upon  its  clear,  white  face 

The  dull,  dark  stain  of  dust,  and  lure 
Thy  heart  from  holiness  to  run  the  race 
For  mockeries  where  GOD  sheds  not  his  grace. 
I  shudder,  lest  the  Earth  shall  press  her  cruel  claim, 
For,  though  so  spotless  now,  thou  art  of  mortal  name  ; 


1 12  THE  CHRISTIAN  PILGRIM'S  PASS-WORD. 

And  purest  incense  throws  its  flame 
From  bloodiest  shrines  ;  and  saddest  shame 
Wails  in  the  wild  harp's  softest  sound  ; 
And  greenest,  freshest  leaves  surround 
The  place  where  gloomy  graves  are  found. 
As  loveliest  buds  are  culled  to  deck  the  tomb, 
So  for  the  purest  hearts  Earth  seeks  her  heaviest  doom. 
Thus  am  I  sad  :  —  but  He,  who  gave  thee  life, 
Arms  thee  to  brave  the  temptress  in  successful  strife  ; 
Earth  plots  thy  ruin,  for  this  she  spreads  her  toils, 
But  GOD,  for  those  who  love  him,  Earth's  temptation 

foils  ; 

JESUS  was  sinless  in  a  world  of  sin, 
Now  low  before  his  throne  bend  burning  seraphin  ; 
Like  Him,  reject  its  guilt,  and  dare  its  gloom, 
Thy  fadeless  victor-wreath  and  crown  in  blissful  heav 
en  shall  bloom." 

"  Father,"  the  child  replied,  "  I  too  seek  heaven, 
I  wish  the  victor-wreath  to  Christians  given ; 
Point  me  their  path,  who  for  that  crown  have  striven." 

Her  firm  resolve  well-pleased  he  heard  her  tell, 
To  sojourn  on  the  earth,  in  heaven  to  dwell, 
Then  happy  bade  the  Christian  child  farewell. 

"  Now,  gentle  girl  ! 

Why  sadly  meet  thee  ? 
Soon  to  our  Father's  house  we  '11  come  ; 
Thou  gentle  girl, 
I  gladly  greet  thee, 


THE  CHRISTIAN   PILGRIM'S  PASS-WORD.          1 13 

Soon  we  shall  reach  our  distant  home. 
Our  Saviour  leads  the  way, 
And  we  must  pray, 
And  never  stay, 
Until  we  see  the  golden  dome, 
Which  shines  in  endless  day, 
And  join  the  lay, 
Which  angels  pay, 
No  more  from  heaven  to  stray, 
Nor  in  this  weary  world  to  roam. 
Seek,  then,  thy  Saviour,  while  he  may  be  found, 
Let  thy  young  heart  in  his  pure  love  abound  ; 
He  '11  save  thee  from  the  grasp  of  sin,  and  earth's 

death-whirl, 
And  GOD  will  give  thee  grace  and  glory,  gentle  girl." 


10* 


114 


SONNET. 

MY  weary  spirit,  looking  hence 
Up  to  the  empyrean  of  the  blest, 
GOD'S  heaven  of  sinless,  holy  rest, 

Abjures  the  vanities  of  sense  ; 

I  '11  fight  the  fight  of  faith,  and  wake, 
Revived,  by  thine  omnipotence, 
Oh  CHRIST,  my  strength  and  confidence, 

From  death,  the  crown  of  life  to  take  ; 
To  glorious  company  of  saint 
And  angel  I  press  on,  nor  faint, 
To  taste  the  joys  time  cannot  taint  ; 
And  "  glorying  only  in  thy  cross," 
For  thee  the  fiend's  temptations  toss 
Aside,  and  "  count  all  things  but  loss." 


115 


THE  WIDOW'S   SON* 

"  Now  when  he  came  nigh  to  the  gate  of  the  city,  behold,  there  was  a  dead 
man  carried  out,  the  only  son  of  his  mother,  and  she  was  a  widow :  and  much 
people  of  the  city  was  with  her.  And  when  the  LORD  saw  her,  he  had  compassion 
on  her,  and  said  unto  her,  weep  not."  —  ST.  LUKE,  vii.  12,  13. 

THE  mother  looked  in  vain 

For  every  coming  morrow  ; 
Her  son  had  sailed  from  far  New-Spain  ; 

She  knew  not  yet  her  sorrow. 

Long  days,  that   lingered  on, 

To  many  weeks  amounted. 
No  tidings  from  her  only  son  ! 

The  passing  hours  she  counted. 

Perhaps  he  pined  away, 

On  desert  head-land  stranded  ; 
Perhaps  beneath  the  waves  he  lay, 

With  coral  sea-shroud  banded. 

Sure,   't  is  but  vain  to  strive, 

\Vhen  fears  within  are  centred. 
But  now  good  news  !  her  hopes  revive  ; 

The  tardy  ship  has  entered. 

Quick  is  the  news-list  read  ; 
No  Thomas  there  is  noted. 

*  Lines  suggested  by  the  death  of  Thomas  I m,  the  only  child  of 

his  widowed  mother,  on  his  passage  from  Mexico  to  New  York. 


116  THE  WIDOW'S  SON. 

Alas  !  alas  !  he  must  be  dead, 
On  whom  that  widow  doted  ! 

The  black-sealed  letter  soon 

The  dreadful  truth  attested  ; 
He  died  in  young  life's  brightest  noon, 

In  ocean's  caves  he  rested. 

One  joy  all  griefs  permit, 

One  comfort  still  remaining  ; 
His  clothes,  which  once  he  wore,  she  '11  sit 

And  tend,  while  life  is  waning. 

Oh  mournful,  mournful  tale  ! 

That  widow's  bitter  anguish  ! 
Words  die  unheard,  our  thoughts  all  fail, 

Long  will  that  lone  heart  languish  ! 

He  was  her  darling  child  ; 

She  never  nursed  another  :  — 
His  heart  so  Soft  !  his  voice  so  mild  ! 

He  dearly  loved  his  mother ! 

Now  tell  me,  ye  that  feel 

This  widow's  lonely  sadness, 
Can  earth  her  wounded  spirit  heal  ? 

Earth  can  yield  nought  but  madness. 

Poor  mother !  pray  to  GOD, 

Go  to  thy  SAVIOUR  often  ; 
This  woful  world  thy  SAVIOUR  trod, 

Thy  sorrows  HE  will  soften. 


117 


THE  MANIAC  MAID. 

"  Trust  in  the  LORD  with  all  thy  heart  j  and  lean  not  to  thine  own  understand 
ing."  PROV.  iii.  5. 

"  My  son,  despise  not  the  chastening  of  the  LORD  j  neither  be  weary  of  his 
correction."  —  PROV.  iii.  11. 

A  MANIAC  maiden  sought  the  strand  :  — 

Her  lover  had  left  for  a  foreign  land  ; 

His  country's  high  call  had  challenged  her  claim, 

And  he  went  to  fight  for  his  country's  fame. 

But  woe  to  his  hopes  !  and  woe  to  his  pride  ! 

He  fell  where  gallant  foemen  died. 

The  storm  was  out  ;  —  the  sea  dashed  high  ;  — 
The  blackened  tempest  drove  along  the  sky  ; 
But  she  tarried  not  for  the  sea-bird's  scream, 
And  she  hurried  on  by  the  lightning's  gleam  ; 
And  she  thought  of  her  lover's  bloody  grave, 
And  plunged  her  in  the  foaming  wave. 

The  storm  was  hushed  ;  —  the  morn  was  clear  ;  — 
But  the  maid  was  gone  from  her  parents'  cheer  : 
They  searched  on  the  hill,  they  sought  on  the  shore, 
But  the  maid  was  lost  ;  —  they  saw  her  no  more  ; 
They  heard  not  her  grief,  they  knew  not  her  wrong  ; 
For  the  wild  winds  howled  her  requiem  song. 


118 


DIES  IRJE.* 

DIES  irse,  dies  ilia 
Solvet  sseclum  in   favilla, 
Teste  David  cum  Sibylla, 


*  "  A  Latin  hymn  describing  the  final  judgment  of  the  world.  It  is  as- 
'  cribed  to  Thomas  de  Cselano,  a  Minorite,  who  lived  in  the  thirteenth  centu 
ry.  It  is  a  beautiful  poem,  belonging  to  those  early  Christian  songs,  which 
combine  the  smoothness  of  rhyme  with  the  gravity  of  Latin  verse.  This 
powerful  poem  makes  a  part  of  the  Requiem  (the  Mass  for  the  souls  of  the 
dead)  5  and  it  is  one  of  the  highest  and  most  difficult  tasks  for  the  com 
poser  to  compose  music  adapted  to  the  awful  solemnity  of  the  subject." 
AMERICAN  ENCYCLOPEDIA. 

We  have  adjoined  to  the  hymn  a  literal  translation  of  it.  It  is  to  be 
observed  that  no  translation  from  a  dead  into  a  vernacular  language  can 
equal  the  original,  since,  in  the  vernacular,  every  word  presents  at  once  a 
single  and  definite  meaning,  while  in  the  reading  of  a  dead  language  im 
agination  is  allowed  more  liberty  j  and,  besides,  the  words  of  a  dead  lan 
guage  are  free  from  those  detractive  associations  of  commonness  or  famili 
arity,  which  appertain  to  many  of  even  those  words  in  a  vernacular,  which 
are  employed  in  poetical  composition.  The  Latin  language,  moreover, 
from  its  etymology,  is  altogether  superior  to  our  own,  in  its  facilities  for 
the  composition  of  solemn  and  stately  rhythm. 

t  There  is  doubt  whether  this  line  was  in  the  original  poem  5  but,  being 
ancient,  and  long  in  use,  it  is  retained  by  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  in 
the  hymn  as  used  in  the  Mass  for  the  dead.  It  is  difficult  to  determine 
what  is  the  exact  meaning  of  the  line.  By  "  David  "  may  be  intended 
JESUS  CHRIST,  and  the  phrase  "  cum  Sibylla  "  may  imply  only  the  ab 
solute  certainty  of  his  testimony.  Instances  of  a  similar  sense  of  these 
terms  may  be  found.  If  by  "David"  a  reference  is  made  to  the 
Psalms,  the  passage  is  probably  Psalm  cii.  25,  26  ;  and  by  "  the  Sibyl " 
would  be  understood  some  passage  well  known  at  the  time,  when  this 
hymn  was  composed,  in  one  of  the  Sibylline  books  so  numerous  in  the 
early  periods  of  Christianity.  But  the  interpretation,  which  has  seemed 
most  plausible  and  satisfactory,  is,  that  the  word  "  Sibyl "  is  used 


119 


THE  DAY  OF  WRATH.* 

THE   day  of  wrath,  that  unknown  day,  t 
Will  worlds  in   ashes  melt    away  ; 
So  David   and  the   Sibyl   say. 

generically  or  abstractly,  as  meaning  the  Sibyls, —  all  those  books  among 
the  heathen  or  gentile  nations,  which  were  supposed  to  convey  a  true 
knowledge  of  futurity  ;  and  that  the  term  "  David  "  is  used  in  a  similar 
sense,  as  the  whole  Christian  or  Divine  Revelation.  So  that  the  mean 
ing  will  be,  — All  true  prophetical  records,  in  the  Church  and  among  pa 
gans,  testify  unanimously,  that  this  world  will  be  destroyed,  and  man  be 
judged.  In  this  sense  the  line  conveys  a  mighty  argument,  and  brings 
"  the  day  of  wrath  "  before  our  notice  as  a  subject  of  serious  truth  and 
most  solemn  interest. 

*"HYMN  TO  THE  DEAD. 

"  THAT  day  of  wrath,  that  dreadful  day, 
When  heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away, 
What  power  shall  be  the  sinner's  stay  ? 
How  shall  he  meet  that  dreadful  day  ? 

When,  shrivelling  like  a  parched  scroll, 
The  flaming  heavens  together  roll ; 
When  louder  yet,  and  yet  more  dread, 
Swells  the  high  trump  that  wakes  the  dead ! 

Oh !    on  that  day,  that  wrathful  day, 
When  man  to  judgment  wakes  from  clay, 
Be  THOU  the  trembling  sinner's  stay, 
Though  heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away  !  " 

LAY  OF  THE  LAST  MINSTREL.    CANTO  vi. 

t  St.  Matt.  xxiv.  36.     "  But  of  that  day  and  hour  knoweth  no  man, 
no,  not  the  angels  of  heaven,  but  my  Father  only." 


120  DIES  1R/E. 

Quantus  tremor  est  futurus, 
Quando  Judex  est  venturus, 
Cuncta  stricte  discussurus  !  * 

Tuba,  mirum  spargens  sonum 
Per  sepulchra  regionum, 
Coget    omnes    ante   thronum. 

Mors  stupebit  et  natura, 
Cum  resurget  creatura, 
Judicanti  responsura. 

Liber   scriptus   proferetur,  "f 
In    quo   totum    continetur 
Unde    mundus  judicetur. 

Judex  ergo  cum  sedebit, 
Quidquid  latet  apparebit, 
Nil  inultum  remanebit. 

Quid    sum   miser   tune    dicturus  ? 
Quern    patronum    rogaturus, 
Cum   vix  Justus    sit    securus  ?  J 


*  Heb.  xii.  12.  "  Yet  once  more  I  shake  not  the  earth  only,  but  also 
heaven."  Hag.  ii.  6. 

t  "  And  I  saw  the  dead,  small  and  great,  stand  before  God  ;  and  the 
books  were  opened  ;  and  another  book  was  opened,  which  is  the  book 
of  life  ;  and  the  dead  were  judged  out  of  those  things  which  were  writ 
ten  in  the  books.  —  Rev.  xx.  12. 

\ 1  Pet.  iv.  18.  "  If  the  righteous  scarcely  be  saved,  where  shall  the 
ungodly  and  the  sinner  appear  ?  ;; 


THE  DAY  OF  WRATH.  121 

How  will  the   universe   then   quake, 
When   comes  the    Judge  account  to  take, 
Earth,  heaven,  all  things,  so  strict  to  shake  ! 

The  trumpet   spreads  its  awful  tone 
Deep   through  the   tombs   of  every   zone, 
And  gathers   all  before  the  throne.  * 

Death  will  be  dumb,   and  nature  fear, 
When  raised  the  creature   shall   appear, 
To   answer  to  the  Judge  severe. 

The  book  full-written  will  be   spread, 
Which   holds   all  thought,   or   done,   or  said, 
To  judge  the  world,  both  quick  and   dead,  f 

The  Judge   will  sit,   and   man   arraign, 
Each   hidden  thing  he   will   explain, 
No  sin  shall   unavenged  remain.  J 

What  shall  I,   wretched   man,   then   plead  ? 

What   patron   ask  to   intercede, 

When  scarce  the  righteous  win  their  meed  ? 


*  Or :  Scatters  the  trump  its  awful  sound, 

Through   earth's   dark  graves  it  heaves  the  ground, 
And  summons  all  the  throne  around. 

t  2  Tim.  iv.  1.  "The  LORD  JESUS  CHRIST  shall  judge  the  quick 
and  the  dead  at  his  appearing  and  his  kingdom/'  &c.  See  also  the 
Apostles'  Creed. 

\  Matt.  xxv.  31-4G. 

11 


122  DIES  IRM. 

Rex   tremendae    majestatis, 
Qui    salvandos    salvas    gratis, 
Salva   me,    fons    pietatis. 

Recordare,  Jesu  pie, 
Quod    sum    causa   tuse    viae, 
Ne    me    perdas    ilia    die. 

Quaerens    me,    sedisti    lassus,  * 
Redemisti    crucem    passus, 
Tantus    labor    non    sit    cassus. 

Juste    Judex   ultionis, 
Donum    fac    remissionis, 
Ante    diem   rationis. 

Ingemisco    tanquam    reus, 
Culpa   rubet    vultus   meus  ; 
Supplicanti    parce,    Deus  ! 

Qui    Mariam    absolvisti, 
Et    latronem    exaudisti, 
Mihi    quoque    spem  dedisti. 

Preces  meae    non    sunt    dignae, 
Sed    tu    bonus    fac    benigne, 
Ne    perenni    cremer   igne. 


*  There  is  a  very  affecting  reference  in  this  "  sedisti  lassus  "  to  the 
expression  "  Judex  sedebit "  in  a  preceding  verse. 


THE   DAY  OF  WRATH.  123 

Oh  king   of  dreadful  majesty, 
Who  sav'st  thy  chosen  graciously, 
Full  fount  of  pity,   save  thou  me  ! 

Remember,   oh  good  Lord,  I   pray, 

For  me   thou  trod'st   earth's  dreary  way, 

Lest  thou   destroy  me   in  that  day  ! 

Oft  sitting  faint,  me   thou   hast   sought, 
My  ransom   on  the   cross   thou   'st   wrought, 
Be  so  great  toil  not  all  for  nought  !  * 

Thou  just  avenging  Judge  !  oh  shed 
Thy  free   remission  on  my  head, 
Before  that  day  of  reckoning   dread  ! 

I   groan,  as  if  arraigned   I  stood, 

Guilt  dyes  my   face   with   shame's   red  flood  ; 

The  prostrate   suppliant  spare,    oh   God  ! 

Who   Mary  Magdalen  didst   free, 

And  heard'st  the   thief  upon   the   tree,  | 

Thou  too  hast  given  hope  to  me. 

My  prayers  all  worthless  are,  I   mourn, 
But  thou,  good   Lord,   benignly  turn, 
Lest   in  eternal  fire   I   burn  ! 

*  Or :    Me  thou  didst  seek  with  weary  pain, 
For  me  upon  the  cross  wast  slain, 
Let  not  such  labor  all  be  vain. 

t  So  St.  Peter  calls  the  cross  in  1  Epist.  ii.  24;  "  Who  his  own  self  bare 
our  sins  in  his  own  body  on  the  tree.77     So  also  in  other  places. 


124  DIES  IR^E. 

Inter   oves   locum    praesta, 
Et    ab    hcedis    me    sequestra, 
Statuens    in    parte    dextra. 

Confutatis   maledictis, 
Flammis    acribus    addietis, 
Voca   me    cum    benedictis. 

Oro    supplex    et   acclinis, 
Cor    contritum    quasi    cinis, 
Gere    curam   mei   finis.  * 

Lachrymosa    dies    ilia, 
Qua   resurget    ex   favilla 

Judicandus    homo   reus. 
Huic    ergo    parce,    Deus. 

Pie    Jesu,    Domine, 

Dona  eis   requiem.    Amen. 


*  My  destiny  as  well  as  my  death,  as  in  Numbers  xxiii.  10 ;    "  Let  me 
die  the  death  of  the  righteous,  and  let  my  last  end  be  like  his  !  " 


THE  DAY  OF  WRATH.  125 

Among  the  sheep  grant  thou  my  state, 

And  from  the  goats  me  separate. 

And  place  at  thy  right  hand  to  wait !  * 

The  cursed  in  speechless  horror  all, 
From  piercing  flames  which  them  appal, 
My  name  among  thy  blessed  call  ! 

I  suppliant  pray,  and  lowly  bend, 
My  contrite  heart  in  ashes  rend, 
Oh  take  thou  care  of  my  last  end  ! 

A  day  of  sighs  and  tears  and  cries, 
When  from  the  ashes  man  shall  rise, 

Before  the  judgment-seat  to  stand  ! 
Spare  him,  oh  GOD  !     oh  stay  thy  hand  ! 

Oh  LORD  JESUS,  Saviour  blest, 

Grant  to  them  thy  endless  rest.     Amen. 

*  Matt.  xxv.  31 ,  &c. 


11  * 


126 


THE   DEPARTED.* 

"  Blessed  are  the  dead  which  die  in  the  LORD  from  henceforth  ;  yea,  saith  the 
SriRiT,  that  they  may  rest  from  their  labors."  —  REV.  xiv.  13. 

THE  sun  to  his  far  ocean  rest  has  passed, 
The  gleamings  of  twilight  are  fading  fast, 
And  the  stars  shine  out  from  the  eastern  sky, 
And  the  soft  breeze  of  even  is  murmuring  by, 
And  thoughts  of  hopes  of  fond  affection  fled 
Mingle  with  thoughts  of  the  absent  and  dead. 

Spirits  of  the  departed  !  where  are  ye  ? 
Are  ye  watching  as  guardians  around  me  ? 
Or  hymn  ye  with  seraphs  your  Saviour's  love  ? 
Have  ye  your  home  with  the  holy  above  ? 
Do  ye  reign  with  the  perfect  just  on  high  ? 
Do  ye  taste  of  pleasures  that  cannot  die  ? 
Are  ye  free  from  temptation's  many  fears  ? 
Are  ye  free  from  sin  ?   are  ye  free  from  tears  ? 


Ah  me  !  where  roves  my  fancy  1  what  kind  dreams 
Crowd  with  sweet  violence  on  my  waking  mind  ! 
Perhaps  illusions  all ! 

Perhaps  they  sing 

To  some  new  golden  harp  the  almighty  deeds 
The  names,  the  honors,  of  their  Saviour  GOD, 
His  cross,  his  grave,  his  victory,  and  his  crown : 
Oh  could  I  imitate  the  exalted  notes, 
And  mortal  ears  could  bear  them  !  " 

WATTS. 


THE  DEPARTED.  127 

Is  your  portion  of  bliss  without  alloy  ? 

Is  your  home  in  the  heavens  ?  Is  GOD  your  joy  ? 

Oh  say,  if  ye  are  allowed  to  declare 

The  wonders  of  grace  that  circle  you  there  ! 

Ye  are  silent.      'T  is  well.     Ye  should  not  tell 
Of  the  glorious  mansions  where  now  ye  dwell  ! 
We  are  children  of  earth  ;  we  cannot  know 
Of  the  "  rivers  of  GOD  "    that  round  you  flow  ; 
Our  senses  are  weak  ;  they  cannot  ascend 
To  the  temple  of  light  in  which  ye  bend  : 
No  !  eye  hath  not  seen,  heart  cannot  conceive 
Of  the  "  crown  laid  up  "  for  the  just  who  believe  ! 

But  oh  !  in  the  great  and  terrible  day, 
\Vhen  the  sun  and  the  stars  shall  pass  away, 
When  the  elements  melt  with  fervent  heat, 
And  the  worlds  shall  burn  as  a  rolling  sheet, 
When  the  throne  is  set,  and  the  trumpet's  sound 
Shall  summon  the  nations  of  earth  around, 
And  the  righteous  receive  their  rich  reward, 
And  joy  in  the  love  of  their  mighty  LORD, 
May  I  enter  with  you  the  promised  rest, 
The  Sabbath  of  heaven,  the  home  of  the  blest  ! 

Rest  ye,  beloved  ones,  in  your  low,  damp  bed  ! 
Sleep  on,  in  your  silence,  ye  faithful  dead  ! 


128 


THE  LAMB   AND  THE   CROSS. 

"The  LAMB  is  the  light  thereof."  — REV.  xxi.  23. 

"  But  GOD  forbid  that  I  should  glory,  save  in  the  cross  of  our  LORD  JESUS 
CHRIST,  by  whom  the  world  is  crucified  unto  me,  and  I  unto  the  world.  —  GAL. 
vi,  14. 

"Ye  are  redeemed  with  the  precious  blood  of  CHRIST,  as  of  a  lamb  without 
blemish  and  without  spot."  —  1  PET.  i.  19. 

THE  Lamb  the  heavenly  light  ! 

The  bleeding  Lamb  of  GOD  !  * 
True  light  !  |  the  light  of  light  !  J  how  bright 

Its  flowing,  flashing  flood  ! 

The  Lamb  the  light  ! 

All  glory  in  the  Cross  ! 

The  cross  of  JESUS  CHRIST  ! 
The  world,  and  all  things  else,  are  dross, 

With  this,  my  great  High-priest, 

The  glorious  Cross  !  § 

Renowned  the  slave's  vile  cross  !  || 

The  Lamb  a  feeble  thing  ! 
Yet  these,  the  Cross,  the  Lamb,  engross 

My  heart  and  mind,  which  sing 

The  Lamb,  the  Cross  ! 

*  "  Behold  the  Lamb  of  GOD  which  taketh  away  the  sin  of  the 
world."  — John  i.  29. 

t  "  That  (the  word)  was  the  true  light,  which  lighteth  every  man  that 
cometh  into  the  world.7' 

t  Nicene  Creed.  §  Heb.  viii. 

||  "  As  this  death  was  most  dolorous  and  full  of  acerbity,  so  was  it 


THE  LAMB  AND  THE  CROSS.         129 

Oh  for  an  angel's  strain, 

The  Lamb  of  GOD  to  bless  ! 
Ascended  King  of  Kings  to  reign  !  * 

The  LORD  our  righteousness  !  "f 

The  Lamb  my  strain  ! 

Oh  for  an  angel's  song, 

The  Cross  of  CHRIST  to  praise  ! 

Thy  mighty  rod,  thy  sceptre  strong, 
Ancient  of  endless  days  !  J 

The  Cross  my  song  ! 

I  love  the  feeble  Lamb  ! 

The  slave's  vile   cross  renowned  ! 
The  Cross  the  sceptre   of  I   AM  !  § 

The  Lamb  the   Lion  crowned  !  || 

The   Cross,   the  Lamb  ! 

In  the   mid   hour  of  night 

A   dream   of  glory  passed, 
And   on  my  wondering  spirit's   sight 

Unwonted   splendor   cast, 

In   deep   midnight. 

also  most  infamous  and  full  of  ignominy.  The  Romans  themselves  ac 
counted  it  a  servile  punishment,  and  inflicted  it  upon  their  slaves  and 
fugitives.  It  was  a  high  crime  to  put  that  dishonor  upon  any  freeman  j 
and  the  greatest  indignity,  which  the  most  undeserving  Roman  could 
possibly  suffer  in  himself,  or  could  be  contrived  to  show  their  detesta 
tion  to  such  creatures  as  were  below  human  nature."  —  PEARSON,  on 
the  Creed.  "Pone  crucem  servo."  —  Juv.  Sat.  vi.  1.  218. 

*  Rev.  xix.  16.        f  Jerem.  xxiii.  6.        +  Dan.  vii.        $  John  viii.  58. 
Exod.  iii.  14.        II  Rev.  v.  5. 


130  THE  LAMB  AND  THE  CROSS. 

Nature  seemed  sunk  in  sleep 

On  every   ancient  hill, 
While   solemn   silence  settled   deep  ; 

Life's  busy  hum  was  still, 

In  nature's  sleep. 

The  stars  were  shining  clear, 
With   soft   and   steady  rays, 

Faint  types  of  that   celestial  year, 
Where  beauty  ever  stays, 

And  radiance  clear. 

The  moon,  with  mellow  beams, 
In  the   eastern   heaven  glowed, 

And   far  around,   in   silver  streams 
Of  lustre,  mildly  flowed 

Its  mellow  beams. 

Within  the  place  of  prayer, 
The   place   of  nightly   rest, 

I   knelt  me   down  to   worship  there 
My   GOD    and  Father  blest, 

In  holy   prayer. 

That  lovely   light   serene 

Within  the   chamber  lay,  — 

Till  brighter,  brighter  fell  its  sheen, 
Beyond  the   brightest  day, 

That  light  serene  ! 

The  stars  had  left  the  skies, 
Oh  glorious  was  the  moon  ! 


THE  LAMB  AND  THE  CROSS.          131 

Unearthly  radiance   swelled  its  size, 
And   from  its   broad   disk  shone, 

And  filled  the   skies. 

Another   mighty  sun, 

Vast   spread,   it  seemed  to   be, 
Though   not  too  light   to   look   upon, 

Yet  lighter  seemed  to   me 

Than  our  bright   sun. 

Still,   still,   dilating   more, 

That  radiant   orb   of  night 
Still  shed   upon   the   world   its   store 

Of  wide-expanding   light, 

Dilating  more. 

Slowly   it  turned   to   blood, 

And   paused  upon  its  gyre  ; 
And  fixed   amid   the   heaven  it  stood, 

Omen   of  coming   ire, 

All  turned  to   blood. 

Oh,  when  in  future  time, 

I  see  that  omen  dire, 
Good  LORD   and  Saviour,  Judge  sublime, 

Save  me  from  endless  fire, 

In  future  time.* 


*  "  Sed  tu  bonus  fac  benigne, 
Ne  perenni  cremer  igne." 

Dies  Irce, 


132  THE  LAMB  AND  THE  CROSS. 

Changed  then  that  dismal  scene,  — 
Fled  that  dread  hue  imprest,  — 

The  orb  sent  forth  its  glorious  gleen, 
And  with  new  lustre  drest 

The  beauteous  scene;  — 

Then,  stretching  far   on  high, 

Another  form  became, 
And  showed,  in  brilliant  majesty, 

A  cross  of  hallowed  flame, 

Burning  on  high. 

Raised  on  a  battle  car 

Of  ancient  shape  and  mould, 
The  Cross,  whose  brilliance  streamed  afar, 

Seemed  to  sure  victory  rolled, 

On  that  grand  car. 

Thou  dwelling  in  the  Height, 

On  earth  the  Nazarene  ! 
Now  in  thy  light  may  we  see  light  ;  * 

Be  here  thy  glory  seen, 

From  out  the  Height ! 

The  light  which  issued  thence, 
How  calm  and  sweet  and  fair  ! 

I  gazed,  with  ravished,  awful  sense, 
And  breathed  that  light,  as   air, 

Which  issued  thence. 


*  Psalm  xxxvi.  9. 


THE    LAMB    AND   THE    CROSS.  133 

I  knew  no  fear,  but  awe,  — 

Such  as  the  prophet  felt, 
When  in  the  isle  his  LORD  he  saw,* 

And  in  his  presence  knelt, 

With  holy  awe. 

That  heaven-entranced  seer 

In  Patmos  met  his  LORD  :  — 
Though  perfect  love   cast  out  all  fear,  f 

Yet  worshipped  and  adored 

The  reverent  seer. 

Angels  in  light  and  bliss, 

Who  harp  GOD'S  praise  above, 
Feel  sacred  rapture  such  as  this, 

Awful  yet  fearless  love, 

The  angels'  bliss. 

There  is  no  fear  in  love, 

Yet  love  is  rapturous  awe, 
GOD,  Infinite  Love,  our  hearts  approve, 

While  Love  is  Infinite  Law, 

With  awful  love. 

That  chariot  of  the  Lamb  ! 

It  has  no  barbed  steeds  ! 
Rushing  in  strength  to  save  or  damn, 

Its  course  JEHOVAH  speeds, 

The  Almighty  Lamb  ! 

*  Rev.  i.  13-17. 

t  1  John  iv.  18.    "There  is  no  fear  in  love}  but  perfect  love  casteth 
out  fear ;  because  fear  hath  torment." 
12 


134  THE   LAMB  AND  THE   CROSS. 

Oh  King,  so  wonderous  meek, 

Now  throned  o'er  heaven's  vast  nave  ! 

Thou  cam'st  to  earth  the  lost  to  seek,* 
The  trusting  suppliant  save,t 

Thou  King  so  meek! 

Gird  on  thy  shining  sword, 
Oh  conquering   Son  decreed,  J 

GOD'S  spirit-piercing,  powerful  word  :  § 
Through  all  the  nations  speed, 

With  thy  sharp  sword  ! 

Oh  Thou  most  mighty  GOD  ! 

Ride  on  to  triumph  now  ;  IT 
Let  nations  purchased  with  thy  blood, 

To  thee,  LORD  JESUS,  bow, 

Almighty  GOD.** 


*  Luke  xix.  10. 

t  "  Supplicanti  parce,  Deus."  —  Dies  Irce. 

I  Psalm  ii.  7-12.  §  Eph.  vi.  17.     Heb.  iv.  12. 

||  Rev.  xix.  15  3  i.  16.  IF  Psalm  xlv.  3,  4. 

**  Isaiah  ix.  6. 


135 


SONNET. 

"Clouds  and  darkness  are  round  about  him  ;  righteousness  and  judgment  are 
the  habitation  of  his  throne."  —  PSALM  xcvii.  2. 

THERE  is  a  mourner,  whose  young  pulses  beat 

Wildly  and  fitfully  with  lonely  grief ; 

Within  whose  riven  heart,  without  relief, 
Still  preys  her  parting-woe's  first  burning  heat. 
I  honor  that  true  friend,  —  that  faithful  wife,  — 

And  deeply  pity  her  ;  for  well  I  know 

Her  voiceless,  dreary,  dark,  and  blighting  woe, — 
Faithful  in  death  to  him  she  loved  in  life. 
Ah  !    why  should  one  so  true  be  doomed  to  mourn, 
From  hour  to  hour,  to  life's  extremest  bourn  ? 
Thou  GOD  of  grace  !    thy  ways  are  not  as  ours, 
Thou  smil'st  in  mercy  when  thy  judgment  lowers  ! 
Forgive  the  doubt,  oh  righteous  LORD  !    Sin  rends 
The  heart; — thou  lov'st  !     Thy  heaven  will  make 
amends  ! 


136 


CHRISTIAN  RESIGNATION. 

"  I  know  that  he  shall  rise  again  in  the  resurrection  at  the  last  day." 

ST.  JOHN  xi.  24. 
"Not  my  will,  but  thine  be  done."— ST.  LUKE,  xxii.  42. 

JT  WAS  early  spring  :  — the  flowers  had  just  begun 
To  spread  their  beauties  to  the  genial  sun  ; 
And  smiling  verdure  decked  the  swelling  plains, 
Which  late  were  bound  in  winter's  icy  chains  ; 
And  where  the  careless  sleigh  last  slid  along, 
There  flowed  a  current,  rapid,  deep,  and  strong  ; 
And  birds  were  pouring  forth  their  carols  loud 
In  woods,  which  lately  to  the  tempest  bowed. 

The  winds  breathed  not  ;  —  the  noon-day  sun  rode 

high; 

No  cloud  was  seen  to  spot  the  azure  sky. 
A  funeral  train  moved  on  in  solemn  show, 
A  small  and  sad  procession,  silent,  slow  :  — 
One  only  mourned,  and  her  groans,  shuddering,  low, 
Told  the  intenseness  of  a  mother's  woe  ; 
One  only  wept,  and  her  swoln,  tearful  eye 
Expressed  a  mother's  dreary  agony  ; 
They  followed  to  his  grave  the  only  son 
Of  this  now  lonely,  childless,  widowed  one. 

Her  trust  was  in  her  GOD  :  —  she  knew  that  He, 
Who  by  his  word  had  smoothed  the  stormy  sea, 
Can  give  sweet  comfort  in  the  dark  distress, 
When  sorrows  crowd  around  and  trials  press. 


CHRISTIAN  RESIGNATION.  137 

The  scene  was  changed  ;  —  and  fields  of  yellow  corn 
Waved  o'er  the  golden  landscape: — spring  had  gone. 
'T  was  summer  twilight,  that  still,  holy  hour, 
When  calm  hushed  nature  speaks  the  ruling  Power  ; 
And  fragrant,  grateful  breezes  sighed  among 
The  trees,  where  late  the  feathered  songsters  sung. 

I  stood  beside  the  sick,  the  dying  bed 
Of  that  poor  widow,  on  whose  fenceless  head 
Afflictions  thick  had  fallen  ;  but  her  trust 
Was  in  her  Saviour,  merciful  and  just. 
The  stroke  was  heavy,  —  but  her  GOD  was  Love  ; 
The  body  failed,  —  the  strong  mind  looked  above  : 
And,  as  her  frame  grew  weak  in  death,  her  soul 
Rejoiced,  for  it  saw  heaven  its  resting-goal. 
She  prayed  in  fervent  faith  ;  her  eyes  grew  bright, 
Then  fixed  ;  —  the  immortal  spirit  took  its  flight :  — 
The  mother's  spirit,  freed  from  earth,  had  flown 
To  meet  her  child  before  the  Father's  throne. 

What  gave  that  poor  bereaved  woman  power 
To  bear  her  sorrows  in  the  gloomy  hour  ? 
What  turned  to  holy  praise  her  dying  breath, 
And  robbed  of  terror  the  grim  tyrant,  Death  ? 
What  caused  her  chastened  spirit  pure  to  rise 
To  scenes  of  joy  eternal  in  the  skies  ? 
'T  was  Christian  Resignation. 


12* 


138 


THE  UNKNOWN  SUFFERINGS  OF  CHRIST. 

SUGGESTED   BY  THE  FOLLOWING    PASSAGE    FROM    THE   LIFE    OF 
THE  REV.  ROWLAND  HILL,  BY  THE  REV.  EDWIN  SIDNEY. 

"  One  day  a  remark  was  made  on  the  admirable  petition  (in  the  Liturgy  of 
the  Greek  Church),  'By  all  thy  sufferings  known  and  unknown,  Good  Lord,  de 
liver  us.'  'Ay,'  said  Mr.  Hill,  '  I  consider  that  prayer  to  be  one  of  the  most 
touching  ever  uttered.  The  unknown  sufferings  of  CHRIST  !  All  his  described 
sufferings  were  slight,  in  comparison  with  what  infinite  holiness  must  have  felt 
in  the  midst  of  sinners ;  the  light,  the  glory  of  heaven,  in  the  darkness  and 
impurity  of  the  world,  yet  spotless  and  without  sin  !  Oh,  my  Saviour,  no 
tongue  can  describe,  no  angel  can  fathom,  the  abyss  of  thy  suffering  for  me  a 
sinner  !  As  I  cannot  reach  the  infinite  height  of  thy  love  and  thy  glory  in 
heaven,  so  1  cannot  descend  into  the  depth  of  thy  sorrows  when  here  on  earth  ! 
I  can  only  wonder  and  adore  !  '  " 

BY  thy  sufferings  known  on  earth, 
By  thy  pure,  mysterious  birth, 

Good  LORD,  JESUS  ! 
By  the  sacramental  seal, 
When,  a  babe,  thou  first  didst  feel 
The  cutting  edge  of  steel, 

Deliver  us  ! 

By  all  righteousness  fulfilled, 
Thou  in  Jordan's  waters  chilled, 

Blessed  JESUS  ! 
By  thy  hallowed  fasting-time, 
And,  when  Satan  urged  to  crime, 
Thy  victory  sublime, 

Deliver  us  ! 


THE  UNKNOWN  SUFFERINGS  OF  CHRIST.         139 

Wanderer  round  Samaria's  land, 
Watcher  by  Tiberias'  strand. 

Blessed  JESUS  ! 

By  the  desert's  gloomy  shade, 
By  the  mount  with  light  arrayed, 
Thy  glory  then  displayed, 

Deliver  us  ! 

By  thy  sorrowing  friendship's  sighs, 
By  thy  human  sympathies, 

Blessed  JESUS  ! 

By  thy  heart's  each  secret  pang, 
By  the  burning  tears  which  stang, 
While  loud  Hosannas  rang,* 

Deliver  us  ! 

By  thy  dreary  loneliness, 
Homeless,  houseless,  comfortless, 

Blessed  JESUS  ! 

By  the  Shepherd's  anxious  care,  | 
By  the  malice  Thou  didst   dare, 
Thy  patient  love  and  prayer, 

Deliver  us  ! 

Thou  in  agony  didst  plead, 

Drops,  like  sweat,  thy  heart  did  bleed, 

Blessed  JESUS  ! 
By  that  garden-woe's  abyss, 
By  the  wretched  Judas'  kiss, 
The  armed  men's  scornful  hiss, 

Deliver  us  ! 

St.  Luke  xix.  41.    Comp.  Matt.  xxi.  9.  f  St.  John  x.  7-16. 


140        THE  UNKNOWN  SUFFERINGS  OF  CHRIST. 

By  thine  anguish,  left  of  all,* 
By  the  cruel  judgment-hall, 

Blessed  JESUS  ! 
By  frail  Peter's  coward  vow, 
By  the  hireling's  brutal  blow, 
The  soldier's  mocking  show, 

Deliver  us  ! 

By  the  burden  thou  didst  share, 
Which  Cyrenian  Simon  bare, 

Blessed  JESUS  ! 
By  thy  fainting  steps  to  die, 
Zion's  daughters  wailing  nigh, 
And  fearful  Calvary, 

Deliver  us  ! 

By  thy  cross,  —  the  nail,  —  the  thong, 
By  the  tauntings  of  the  throng, 

Blessed  JESUS  ! 
By  the  brutal  robber's  jeers, 
Thy  disciples'  silent  tears, 
Thy  mother's  mourning  years, 

Deliver  us  ! 

By  thy  dreadful,  deadly  thirst, 
When  thy  cry,  "Forsaken  !  "  burst, 

Blessed  JESUS  ! 

By  thy  struggling  throes  for  breath, 
By  the  sharp  spear's  bloody  sheath, 
Thy  shuddering  gasp  of  death, 

Deliver  us ! 

*  Matt.  xxvi.  56.    "  Then  all  the  disciples  forsook  him  and  fled. 


THE  UNKNOWN  SUFFERINGS  OF  CHRIST.        141 

By  thy  sufferings  all  unknown} 
Felt  by  none  but  Thee  alone,  * 

Good  LORD,  JESUS  ! 
By  thy  coming  INCARNATE, 
By  thy  LIFE  in  human  state, 
Thy  final  PASSION  great, 

Deliver  us  ! 

Thy  described  sufferings  vast, 
Yet  by  these   how  far  surpassed  ! 

Blessed  JESUS ! 

Finite  hearts  can  never  know 
All  thy   sufferings  below, 
Heaven's  love  in  deepest   woe  ! 

Deliver  us  ! 

Thou,  the  Holy  One   and  pure, 
Didst,   as  man,  our  shame  endure, 

Blessed  JESUS  ! 

Light  and  glory  from  on  high, 
Spotless,   sinless,  Thou   didst  try 
The   world's  impurity ! 

Deliver  us  ! 


*  In  the  sufferings  unknown  by  any  except  "  GOD  manifest  in  the 
flesh, "  "  the  Word,  who  was  GOD,  made  flesh,  and  dwelling  among  us,"  is 
the  peculiarity  of  that  reconciliation  which  He  effected,  who  "for  our 
sakes  became  poor,  that  we  through  his  poverty  might  be  made  rich." 
These  are  his  Incarnation  and  his  Life,  in  which  are  comprehended  his 
Passion. 

By  thy  wondrous  Incarnation, 

By  thy  Life  in  human  station, 

Thy  Passion,  our  salvation, 

Good  LORD,  deliver  us ! 


142        THE  UNKNOWN    SUFFERINGS  OF  CHRIST. 

To   the  Father,  once   again, 
Now   exalted,  who  wast   slain, 

Blessed  JESUS  ! 

By  thy   sufferings  all  unknown, 
Who  for  sinners  didst   atone, 
Behold  us  from  thy  throne, 

Deliver  us  ! 

These  no  tongue  can  ever  teach, 
Angel  flight  can  never  reach, 

Blessed  JESUS  ! 

Though  to  Thee   no  thought  can  soar, 
Still,   oh  Saviour,  evermore, 
We  wonder  and   adore  ! 

Deliver  us  ! 


A  PRAYER  TO  CHRIST. 

OH   SAVIOUR  !  Thou,   as  man,  hast  felt 

The   strong  temptation  ;   and   hast   knelt, 

Like  us,  for  strength   to  bear  thee   up  ; 

And,   in  its  bitterness,  the    cup 

Of  anguish  to   its  dregs   didst  drain  ; 

Now,  King   of  Glory  !    kindly  deign 

To  wash  us   white  from  sin's   dark   stain  ! 


143 


SONNET. 

LORD  !  Thou  art  GOD,  and  I   a  weak 
And  erring  child  of  earth  ;  —  the   free 
And  holy  hope    of  peace  with  Thee, 
Thy   full  forgiveness,  I  bespeak  : 

How  soothing   now,  —  when  none   is  near, 
To  turn  my  worship's   gathering  tide 
Through  earth's  vile  channels  far   aside, 

Or  mock  the  penitential  tear,  — 
To  lay  thus   low  my  burning  cheek 
Upon  the   sacred   page,  and  seek 
Thy  love,  the  "lowly  and  the  meek"  ! 
Though  I  am  worthless,  Thou   didst  bear 
My  sin  ;  and,  trusting  to  thy  care, 
In  faith  I   pray; — LORD,  hear  my  prayer  ! 


144 


THE  WORSHIP   OF  HEAVEN. 

LINES  SUGGESTED  BY  THE  FOLLOWING  PASSAGE  RELATING  TO 
THE  LAST  MOMENTS  OF  UlCHARD  HOOKER,  IN  THE  LlFE  OF 
THAT  EXTRAORDINARY  MAN,  BY  IzAAK  WALTON. 

"  After  some  time  he  (Doctor  Saravia)  left  him  at  night,  with  a  promise  to 
return  early  the  day  following,  which  he  did,  and  then  found  him  hetter  in  ap 
pearance,  deep  in  contemplation,  and  not  inclinable  to  discourse,  which  gave  the 
Doctor  occasion  to  inquire  his  present  thoughts;  to  which  he  replied, —  Tliat  he 
was  meditating  the  number  and  nature  of  angels,  and  their  blessed  obedience  and 
order,  without  which  peace  could  not  be  in  heaven;  and  oh!  that  it  might  be  so  on 
earth." 

11  Praise  ye  him,  all  his  angels ; 

Praise  ye  him,  all  his  hosts." 

PSALM  cxlviii.  2. 

BEFORE  the  great  white  throne, 
Where  unveiled  splendor  shines,  above  mid  heaven 

displayed, 

JEHOVAH'S  angel  armies  stand  ; 
Silent  and  still  they  stay,  rank  upon  rank  surveyed, 

The  glorious,  boundless  brother-band, 
With  robes   of  dazzling  white  their  countless   lines 

arrayed  ; 

Each  eye  upraised  and  clasped  each  hand, 
They  seem  in  adoration's  awful  rapture  lost. 

One  changeless  law  alone, 
Of  universal  order,  sways  the  herald-host,  — 

JEHOVAH'S  honor,  his  command  ; 
With  meek  humility,  they  wait  the  word, 
Obedient  to  fulfil,  of  heaven's  high  LORD. 

Oh  wonderous  gift  of  grace  ! 

Lovely  humility  ! 
Reflected  from  the  face 

Of  the  one  Good  on  high  ! 


THE   WORSHIP  OF  HEAVEN.  145 

Sweet  attribute  of  heaven 
To  saints  sublimest  given  ! 

The  holy  harmony 
Of  ravished  harps  above  ! 
Deep  source  of  perfect  love, 

Springing  beyond  the  sky  ! 
Full  fount  of  solemn  joy, 
Where  endless,  blest  employ 

Angelic  spirits  ply  ! 

Effulgent  star  of  hope,  whence  beauty  beams  ! 
Bright  sun  of  righteousness,  whence  glory  streams  ! 

Eternal,  sacred  law  ! 

Mighty  humility  ! 
Whose  constant  forces  draw 

From  spheres  their  melody  ! 
Great,  mysterious  will, 
Whose  acts  creation  fill  ! 

The  unsolved  unity 
Of  fire-wreathed  worlds  that  roll  ! 
The  universal  soul 

Of  boundless  ecstasy  ! 
The  immortal  chain  that  binds 
All  loftiest,  purest  minds 

To  GOD  eternally  ! 

First  principle  of  rule  in  every  place, 
Maintaining  blissful  empire  throughout  space  ! 

Pure  mind  of  CHRIST  the  slain  ! 

Highest  humility  ! 
From  mortal  pride  and  pain 
13 


146  THE  WORSHIP  OF  HEAVEN. 

To  thy  support  we  flee  ! 
Once  manifest  below, 
Supreme  ascended  now, 

Our  anxious  sorrows  see  ! 
Beatitude  of  saints, 
When  guilty  nature  faints, 

We  burdened  come  to  thee  ! 
Our  languid  spirits  pine, 
To  know  thy  power  divine, 

Strength  of  the  truly  free  ! 
Highest  humility  !  from  finite  thought  so  far  ! 
Life  of  all  holy  hearts  !  how  rich  thine  honors  are  ! 

Around  the  throne  of  GOD 
The  gathered  myriads  wait,  through  countless  circles 

spread, 

In  reverential  posture  bent, 
And  quaff  the  fearful  joy,  the  exultation  dread, 
From  GODHEAD'S  glorious  presence  sent. 
No  sound  is  in  the  solemn  orbs,  but  silence  dead, 

Throughout  their  measureless  extent  ; 
No  motion  stirs  along  the  starry  pavement  fair, 

Where  swift-winged  feet  just  trod  ; 
Deep  is  the  spirit-worship,  full  the  joy,  they  share, 

All  sense  in  burning  homage  blent, 
Till  Gabriel's  hand  sweeps  once  his  golden  lyre, 
And  wakes  to  intensest  praise  the  entranced  choir. 

Angels  and  cherubim, 
With  soft,  slow  symphonies,  their  many  lyres  unbound, 

Chant  low,  responsive,  lingering  lays  ; 
Mild  music  measured  murmurs,  mingles,  melts,  around; 


THE  WORSHIP   OF  HEAVEN.  147 

The  liquid  prelude  still  they  raise, 
Their  silvery  tones,  now  sweet,  now  wildly  swelling, 

sound  ; 

Each  string  its  tribute  trembling  pays. 
The  spreading  zones  far  off  have  caught  the  sacred 

strain  ; 
Archangels,   seraphim, 

And  all  their  host,  the  ecstatic  numbers  strike  again, 

GOD'S  transport-hymn  of  choral  praise  ; 
And  heaven's  vast  vaults  reecho  loud  and  long, 
Of  Moses  and  the  LAMB,  heaven's  holiest  song. 

The  chorus-shout  has  past ; 
That  hymn's  triumphant  grandeur  discords  may  not 

mar. 

And  now,  with  hushed  and  holy  fear, 
They  list  JEHOVAH'S  word,  —  those  multitudes  afar. 

The  charge   goes  forth  to  all  :    they  hear, 
They  fly,  —  some  to  each  splendent  sun,  or  smaller 

star  ; 

Some  to  the  systems  bright,  which  rear 
Their  walls  of  massive  brilliance  on  creation's  verge 

Pursue  their  journey  fast  ; 
To  every  varied  clime  their  vivid  track  they  urge, 

In  every  distant  globe  or  near ; 
They  speed,  with  gleaming  wing,  their  rapid  flight, 
Their  rapid  flight,  —  a  flash  of  sudden  light.* 

Some  to  salvation's  heirs 
Are  ministering  spirits,  sent  to  watch  their  path, 

*  Ezekiel  i.  14. 


148  THE   WORSHIP  OF  HEAVEN. 

And  guide  them  to  the  Saviour's  rest  ; 
Some  flames  of  fire  are  made,  his  ministers  to  scath, 

Where  rebel  worlds  are  guiltiest  ; 
Some  rushing  winds  are  sped,  his  messengers  of  wrath; 

All  haste  the  Living  Father's  hest. 
They  need  no  glowing  crown,  no  lustrous  ring  nor 

gem; 

Each  angel-forehead  wears 
The  mark  of  GOD,  his  angels'  noblest  diadem, 

Each  holy,  each  supremely  blest. 
By  one  great  law  the  radiant  spirits  move, 
The  law  which  rules  in  heaven,  the  law  of  love. 

Would  it  were  thus  on  earth  ! 
That  blessed  order  and  obedience  held  each  heart, 

Like  theirs,  to  our  JEHOVAH  nigh  ! 
That  men,  with  all  above,  might  bear  concordant  part, 

With  those  blest  angel-hosts  might  vie  ! 
Then  human  sin  would  die,  remorse  no  longer  smart, 

And  human  sorrows  cease  to  sigh. 
Soon  would  the  desert  smile,  with  shining  garments 

clad, 

Plenty  spring  up  from  dearth, 
Beauty  from    ashes  rise,   and  crystal    streams   make 

glad 

The  city  of  our  GOD  Most  High, 
Earth  long  so  desolate,  so  long  forlorn, 
Now  to  fair  hope  and  peace  celestial  born. 

Thy  kingdom  come,  oh  GOD  ! 
Thy  will  be  done  on  earth,  as  angels  keep  thy  law  ! 


THE  WORSHIP  OF  HEAVEN.  149 

Oh  grant  the  grace  thy  people  crave  ; 
Roll  on  the  dazzling  day  thy  visioned  prophets  saw  ! 

Oh  come,  thy  suffering  people  save  ! 
Thou  mighty  LORD  of  lords,  gird  on  thy  sword  of  war  ; 

Assert  the  right  thy  Father  gave  ! 
Great  King  of  Saints,  all  power  in  earth  and  heaven 

is  thine  ! 

Rule  with  thine  iron  rod  ; 
Make  bare  thy  holy  arm,  in  majesty  Divine  ; 

Thy  blood-stained  banner  conquering  wave  ; 
Down  to  their  lake  of  fire  grim  Death  and  Hell  be 

driven ; 

Set  up  thy  throne,  oh  GOD,  till  Earth  be  one  with 
Heaven  ! 


150 


SONNET. 

WELCOME  !  welcome  !  once  again,  ye  lowly  Buds  of  Spring 
Though  ye  do  not  ope  so  full,  nor  spread  your  leaves  so  gi 
As  when  summer's  ripening  breezes  fresh  around  you  pla} 

Still  I  dearly  love  you  for  the  moral  which  ye  bring  ! 

Bursting  ice-cold  fetters,  which  to  earthly  beauty  cling, 
Starting  from  the  winter  to  the  sun's  first  warming  ray, 
When  returning  birds  once  more  chant  loud  their  joyous  li 

Thus  ye  tell,  that  spirits  rise  where  glorious  angels  sing ! 

All  along  the  growing  vines  new  blossoms  ye  will  string, 
Lovelier,  richer  tribute  in  the  coming  season  pay  ; 
Brightening  and  expanding  ever  through  the  lengthening  d? 

Thoughts  of  heaven  upon  the  air  with  perfume  sweet  ye  flin| 
Hallowing  Wisdom's  lessons  may  these  humble  leaflets  sa 

Like  your  fragrant  whispers  heard,  ye  lowly  Buds  of  Spring 


THE  END. 


CAMBRIDGE: 

FOLSOM,    WELLS,    AND    THURSTON, 
PRINTERS    TO    THE    UNIVERSITY. 


YB   13534 


XT 


A 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


